Din Lugh
by dmf1984
Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to kidnap one or more of them. This is a Scotty-centric fan-fic that I started as a teenager, more than 30 years ago (shortly after Wrath of Khan came out). ADDED: I wonder if I categorized this one poorly and am moving it to ST-2009. I love the reboot of Star Trek and enjoy the new possibilities!
1. Chapter 1

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.

**Chapter 1/?**

**Prologue**

It happened in the pre-dawn quiet. A Klingon light battlecruiser, the _Konith_-_ka_, entered orbit around Federation planet RL-995. Cloaking allowed her to sidle in without notice. The landing party's only witnesses were the twin moons in full phase. Kataz, commander of the _Konith_-_ka_, had very specific orders: the Empire wanted a particular Federation engineer. An engineer named Scott.

Colonists were dragged from their beds and assembled in the outer compound. Most were farmers or research scientists and offered little or no resistance to the professionally trained Imperial warriors. Only two of the colonists were killed in the initial contact. They had been frantically trying to send distress beacons and were blasted to vapor and various remnants where they once stood over the communications panels.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? This is Federation space," fumed one very irate colonist, held frozen in his tracks at the point of a Klingon blast phaser. He was further hindered by two wide-eyed little girls who had fastened themselves securely around each of his legs. Several other colonists loudly voiced their protests to such ill treatment.

Kataz ignored them for the moment as he prowled in front of the crowd of humans. His troopers, their discipline impeccable, kept the forty-odd colonists under a close watch. Strangely enough, the crying of the frightened human children both annoyed and pleased him. He was the sort of Klingon male who was at his most dangerous when he was amused.

"I want the engineer Scott. None will be harmed if he steps forward." Kataz paused to watch the colonists' reactions to his announcement. Their eyes betrayed their fear, even though he could smell it easily. _A Klingon's superiorly heightened senses_, he often told himself.

A young blondish man, dressed in a technician's jumpsuit, moved boldly to the front. "I am Scott," he said in a steady voice. "What is it that you bastards want?"

One of the other Klingons said something, it was a gruff and guttural phrase, to Kataz, who then raised his own weapon and fired at nearly point blank range. Screams of terror still echoed as the smoke cleared, leaving only a charred patch where Harris had stood moments before. Kataz regarded the colonists angrily, baring his lupine teeth at them.

"Let me make myself plainer to you: I want the engineer Scott within the hour. One of you will be killed each quarter hour after that I am forced to wait. Do not doubt my sincerity. Any treachery will be dealt with severely, as this example clearly illustrates!"

At their commander's order, the troopers herded the remaining colonists into one of the buildings, leaving them locked in and unguarded to ponder their fates. Then, with uncharacteristic patience, Kataz settled down to wait. This mission would be a pleasure, he promised himself. He had never hunted Earthers before, at least not face-to-face, though his grandfather had. The old Klingon had called them "_ssts_", a hissed acronym for "soft skin, sharp teeth". His grandfather had killed many of them, and had regaled a young Kataz with his stories of adventure.

Once the Klingons had left them in the large meeting hall, the burly man who had first spoken calmly called for quiet. He carefully detached one of the little girls from around his leg and handed her to a frightened woman who stood at his side. The remaining child clung even tighter to her father's right knee and her eyes were wide with fear.

"It's Robert they want, but we don't know why. I'm not about to hand him over to these murderers," Thornson said; his accent was clearly north-Midwestern North America, Michigan probably. "We should wait and not provoke them any further."

The petite woman at his side spoke up in a shaky voice. "Jack, Din Lugh is deep enough in our own space. The treaties assured that. Why are these monsters here? And they must have some sort of scanners on their own ships, wouldn't they? Why blast us to find Robert?"

Thornson frowned at his wife's underlying meaning, but he ignored her cowardice for the moment. "Ann, I don't know. Please..."

"The star is probably interfering with their instruments up there. We're somewhat shielded here under the atmosphere, but..." another man spoke up with a poignant shrug. He was one of the astronomers of the colony, observing first-hand the decay of a yellow star.

"For the sakes of Robert and his family, we will stall for as long as we can until they get here. He has a nephew in Starfleet remember? Perhaps help is already on the way, we were due for annual supplies soon," declared Jack Thornson with more conviction than he really felt.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Family camping trips had become a tradition for Robert and Amanda Scott early in their marriage, and now, with their son Connor, the tradition continued on Din Lugh. The planet's official name was RL-995, but Dr. Scott believed that the translated "Lugh's Fort" had a more adventurous ring to it. Even his nephew Montgomery, chief engineer on the starship _Enterprise_, had agreed with the renaming.

Fourteen-year old Connor was beginning to rebel somewhat against these family outings as he noticed members of the fairer sex more and more. Caroline Hoyer, daughter of the colony's microbiologist (and painter), was his current interest. Although arranged marriages had not applied in his family for centuries, Connor had pledged himself to marry her. Someday.

As far as camping was concerned, Connor would have much rather gone wandering the woods without his parents, but with his favorite dog along for company. The dog, a handsome black and white Border collie named Cuchulain, was the boy's constant companion. One of Connor's engineer father's projects was raising dogs, a hobby carried on from his boyhood days in Scotland. It was actually Connor's mother, Amanda, who insisted on these camping trips, during which she could polish her son's language skills without distraction. As a well-known Starfleet linguist, she could speak at least ninety languages and could understand marginally some dozen more. When Connor had shown a preternatural gift for learning languages quickly at an early age, she decided to teach him the skills of a translator. The boy's other love was starship design and engineering, after his father of course. It was in this happy and nurturing balance that Connor thrived.

Amanda Scott (also Scottish by birth but of the Highland clan Ross), had never learned to completely trust mechanical translators, no matter how much more efficient they were. In language she found that there were too many nuances of meaning and idiomatic expressions to be dealt with as accurately by a computer than by a well-trained linguist. It was a rare person, she believed, who could speak more than his own native tongue and perhaps one other. Her ninety speaking languages included those from Earth, some that were modern and some that were not, as well as languages from many other planets.

The family was returning to the colony compound early that morning, before the heat of the day. Robert had taken some environmental readings and found disconcerting increases in levels of gamma and alpha radiation. Although the protective atmospheric layer was intact, he wanted to notify Starfleet early enough in the case that an evacuation was needed as the star decayed further. So far, Din Lugh had experienced no difficulties in this remote star system, but Dr. Robert Scott was by nature a cautious and careful man.

Absently listening to his wife and son recite an epic poem in the family's native language of Scots Gaelic, Robert's frown deepened as they neared the compound. Even at this early hour of morning, it was strangely quiet and deserted. Farm animals at least made some sounds in the morning and the children of the colony, his lanky son included, were early risers.

"Amanda, dearest, I will be along shortly. I have a few things to check on before breakfast," he said, a little guiltily. Connor had run ahead, laughing and shouting, chasing the huge dog into one of the farm buildings. "I won't be long, I promise."

Hands on hips, Amanda regarded him with an amused look, and then she smiled. "Poor Robbie. This place _can_ manage without you once in a while, ya ken." She kissed him briskly on the cheek, turning to follow after their son.

The boy had followed the collie into the building, scattering the cats that were there waiting impatiently for their breakfasts. Mice had never become a problem on this farm, but the cats were kept anyway. After feeding the cats, and briefly stroking the back of each one (there were ten), he went to a darkened corner stall where a large female Border collie was nursing her young pups. Aine, as she was named, raised her head to growl at the male hound. Cuchulain growled back softly. This was their natural relationship, since females of her kind feared instinctively for her young, even around their own father. The dog did not seem to mind this rather chilly welcome from his mate, and he turned to look for his stainless steel food dish that Connor had filled.

Connor knelt at her head and stroked the hound's silky ears with his slender fingers (he had his mother's hands and his father's eyes). "Good morning, little lady. How are your young five doing today?" He glanced around, hearing Amanda's quiet approach. "Mama, I think their eyes should open any day now. They're already so growing fast."

"Aye, and then you'll be even busier than you can imagine looking after seven dogs and ten cats, on top of your other chores, and studies."

He grinned up at her. This was the usual lecture that he got on responsibility, though his father's version was generally much longer. "Thomas and Caroline have promised to help me. And Aine here does a good job at looking after her sons and daughters."

Amanda ruffled his eternally mussed red hair affectionately. "She'll probably have just as much trouble as I did with her little hounds. Don't be too long; your father will be back for breakfast soon. And don't forget to wash up before you come inside. Use soap this time, aye?"

Connor grinned again. "Yes, ma'am," he replied as he put the camping gear in a storage locker. The "little hound" was a nickname for him, based on the Celtic legend of Cuchulain, which itself meant "Hound of Chulain". In fact, Connor's given name actually meant "hound" or "dog" in the Gaelic language. He looked around for the hero's namesake and the blinding flash as the walls exploded was the last thing he remembered. The very ground shook as he fell. He was only vaguely aware of the pain, and odd sense of worry, that he felt.

TBC

A/N: I thank you kindly for reading this far. As I said on page one, this is a Scotty-centric fan-fic that I started while I was a teenager, more than thirty years ago. In fact, ST-"Wrath of Khan" had just come out in the theaters! In particular, I miss Jimmy Doohan and DeForrest Kelley and their unforgettable performances.

That being said, I am thoroughly enjoying the "reboot" of our beloved Star Trek universe from 2009 and 2013 in the capable hands of Chris Pine, Zachary Quinto, Zoe Soldana, Simon Pegg, Karl Urban and the rest (_especially_ Karl Urban's portrayal of Dr. McCoy) and I mean no disrespect to the new legions of fans they have gathered.

I'm just an old school gal.

Best,

D.


	2. Chapter 2

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek TOS fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design, primarily in the movies II-V. I started writing this story more than 30 years ago and decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them. **Nearly two solar years have passed since the Prologue…**

Rating: T

Pairings: MS/NU

**Chapter 2/?**

**The Search**

_Captain's Log: Stardate 2889.15. Our present assigned survey voyage in galactic quadrants U-18 and U-20 has been suspended as Enterprise has been redirected to investigate weather disturbances in the RL-99 system. The primary star of this system has entered final stages of decay and a research colony on the fifth planet must be evacuated. A subspace report was filed by the head of the colony, Dr. Robert Scott (chief engineer Scott's uncle) some two years ago, notifying Starfleet of this star's condition. Apparently at the time, it was not considered to be an emergency. No further communication has come from planet RL-995 since then, but as Scotty tells me, this is not unusual for his uncle. We are not yet in range for communications with the colony, but at present course and speed we should arrive in four days. Dr. McCoy has nearly completed accommodations for the evacuated colonists and is concerned that some may require treatment for radiation exposure. Scotty is merely concerned, for now, with getting his relatives out of there._

Thumbing the recorder off, Jim Kirk stretched his arms wide and failed in an attempt to stifle a yawn. It had been a long, if uneventful, day of routine scans until the reassignment orders came in near the end of alpha shift. He was looking forward to a restful evening, and also to the change of scenery. This part of space was surprisingly dull, even if it was in close proximity to the Klingon Neutral Zone.

"Mr. Sulu, status please."

The helmsman turned slightly at his station, speaking over his right shoulder. "All areas report smooth sailing, Captain. We are maintaining course and warp 7 to RL-995, sir." Hikaru Sulu's deep voice was very soft and clear, blending flawlessly with the other ambient sounds of the _Enterprise's_ bridge.

"We should reach Din Lugh three days from tomorrow Captain," Scott interjected from the engineering station. Though usually he kept himself in engineering, close to his bairns, Scotty also liked to get an occasional view from the main screen. Truth be told, he would rather be in engineering than anywhere else…

Kirk stood and stretched again to loosen stiff muscles in his back. "I've been meaning to ask you about that name, Scotty. What is Din Lugh? I thought the colony was just RL-995."

"Aye, _Din Lugh_, sir," said the engineer, correcting the accent and pronunciation almost imperceptibly ("Lugh" as in "loo" rather than "lug"). "It means 'Lugh's fort' in Gaelic. My uncle Robert often re-labels his projects to match up wi' someone or something from our legends of Scotland. Not quite such a sterile name assignment for them anyway. It doesnae get in the reports."

"Lugh was believed to be the chief deity of the Celtic peoples on Old Earth, Captain. He was thought to control thunder and lightning, as well as other completely natural occurrences," came the precise voice of First Officer Spock from across the bridge at his science station.

"Why Spock, I didn't know Earth legends were a secret interest of yours? Particularly the Celtic ones," Kirk commented with a wink directed at Scotty. The chief engineer smiled and nodded slightly.

"I keep very few secrets, Captain. Mr. Scott's stories are not solely meant for a limited audience of enlisted crewmen. I was merely listening out of ...curiosity," he said evenly but there was a subtle sparkle of humor in his eyes for those who knew to look for it. "The tales are quite fascinating, actually."

"Understood, Mr. Spock," said the Captain, chuckling gently. "And I agree." It was often difficult for his half-Vulcan friend to admit anything so openly. _At_ _least_ _Bones_ _isn't_ _hearing_ _this_, he thought.

"Lugh's thunderbolts can strike from clear skies, Captain," Scotty said. "That's 'out of the blue' for you Sassenach heathens." Quiet laughter rippled among some of the crew on the bridge.

"Keptin, Meester Scott, excuse me please. I have always thought that Lugh was a Russian deity, though we call him 'Luev'," mused Chekov from the navigator's station. "In fact, there are several great statues and murals housed in St. Petersburg. Wery spectacular works of art." More quiet laughter rose and fell around them, which the Captain joined. Pavel Andreivich Chekov was known to believe that Russians had invented everything. Kirk turned to Uhura's station for her report, still chuckling.

"Beta shift reporting in, sir. All channels are clear," Uhura told him. Even she sounded fatigued from the long (and boring) day and ready for some time off-shift. She gracefully rose from the communications station as her replacement came onto the bridge.

"Mr. Sulu, you have the conn until you are relieved by beta-shift. Clear steering," Kirk called from the turbolift, not waiting for a reply. He was impatient for a short workout in the gym before dinner. McCoy had hinted at a new "medical supply" shipment that he wanted to with him share after dinner. That sounded interesting.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Inside the _Enterprise's_ chief surgeon' office, a crate of "medical supplies" was being inspected with great relish. It had included nearly two liters of Romulan ale, a liter of Saurian brandy, a liter of single-malt Scotch, and four liters of "Old Grand-Dad" Kentucky sourmash bourbon, all procured by Bones' connections here and there; favors given and received throughout senior members of Starfleet's medical branch. Kirk, McCoy and Scott had all sampled their favorites and were well into second rounds.

"Scotty, when was the last time you heard from your aunt and uncle?" asked McCoy after refilling his short bourbon, neat. "We've been out here away from Earth nigh on forever it feels like."

The chief engineer swirled the fragrant amber liquid in his own glass and looked pensive, as he exhaled loudly. "Just about four years now. I havena' kept up as well as I thought I would. My cousin Connor is probably fourteen or so, and we've never met. He was born there, on Din Lugh, so I dinna think any of the other relatives have met him yet either," Scott said with a sheepish smile. "It'll be good to see them… catch up."

Jim Kirk nodded in agreement. He had not seen his mother for several years, though she was rarely stationed on Earth these days, and he still dearly missed his older brother Sam. "Spock once mentioned that his mother and your aunt were classmates."

"Oh aye, linguistics school, some time ago in Salzburg, Old Europe. In fact, they are both named Amanda. Interesting coincidence, eh? Leonard, I'm sure you'll like her. She doesna' trust mechanical translators at all," replied Scotty. "In fact, if she canna' speak the language hersel', it probably isna' gonna be used much. I think her count was up over a hundred at one time."

Bones thumped his desk happily. "She sounds like a smart woman. Gadgets aren't always the best way to get things done anyhow, haven't I been saying that for years? Besides," he said. "You'd always be able to get the straight poop from your own living, breathing translator. I seem to recall a few times when a computer nearly got us arrested or worse when it fumbled around on some esoteric lingoes, don't you, Jim?"

Kirk grimaced at the memory. "Oh, yes, I remember. Those ambassadors from Dominia, no _Domaria_, wasn't it? They weren't exactly thrilled with the Federation's greeting, and Sarek wasn't there to bail us out. I think they mixed the wrong metaphors at the wrong time."

McCoy snorted behind his glass. "Damn near had a riot on our hands. Again," the doctor commented. All three men shared a laugh at this. "What's this Din Lugh place like anyway, Scotty? The reports on RL-995 are pretty dull."

"Well, my uncle planned to set up a farm there, in addition to the full research facilities. I'm not sure about all the final details, but I'm certain he would raise Border collies. Lovely dogs, if ye've ever seen them, and extremely intelligent. He and my father got started as lads back home in the hills up near Aberdeen, and I know my dad kept it going. They must be fairly self-sufficient since supply transports only go out every other year. The last roster I read was entirely civilian personnel: botanists, zoologists, astronomers, engineers and of course, linguists."

McCoy grinned and finished off his drink. "Too bad we don't have time for shore leave while we're there. This here country boy hasn't been on a _real_ farm in years."

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Captain, long range sensors indicate increasing levels of gamma radiation in the RL-99 system," reported Spock from his station. "At present course and speed, we are twenty point one four hours from RL-995."

"Is it serious, Spock? We'll be sorely pressed for time if that star has started to go."

"Indeed, and quite serious, sir. The primary star has inexplicably entered the final stages of its decay. I estimate, at worst, that we will have thirty-six point three zero hours from the time of our arrival to evacuate the colony and facilitate our exit to a safe observing distance."

The Captain nodded in acknowledgement. "Dr. McCoy will want your updated calculations and readings of the star's condition."

"Already done, sir."

"Uhura, any word yet from RL-995?" asked Kirk as he turned slightly to his right.

Adjusting the transdator in her ear, the communications officer bent over her board, listening intently as she adjusted toggles and gains with slender, elegant hands that moved on pure instinct. "None, Captain. There has been no response on any hailing frequency. All channels are reading static, sir."

"Odd. Shouldn't we be in range by now, Spock?"

"Affirmative. However, there is some ionic interference from the star RL-99 as it degrades, but not enough to be of concern as yet."

Kirk frowned. "Keep at it, Ms. Uhura. Let me know as soon as you get something."

"Aye-aye, Captain," she responded, turning her attention back to the communications board.

The rest of the morning, Jim spent time in his office just off the Bridge, going over routine reports and he filed an update with Starfleet Command. It would take several days for that subspace communication to reach Earth. The bridge crew went about their normal duties with quiet efficiency, as usual. Spock attention was focused as he continued to track and document the condition of star RL-99.

Early that same afternoon, with no contact yet from the research colony, the Captain scheduled a briefing with Spock, McCoy, Scott and Quartermaster Colin Matlock, who would oversee the transport of the personal effects and equipment from the colony. Sulu was left in command, with orders to get in touch with them as soon as Uhura contacted RL-995.

"Any word, sir?" asked Scotty, sounding worried. "We should have been in range hours ago." Kirk shook his head and deferred to Spock.

"Ms. Uhura has been unable to hail them up to this point. However, there is a large ionic disturbance from the primary star of that system which could conceivably interfere with our, and their, communications systems," summarized the First Officer.

Scott didn't like the sound of that at all. "Bloody hell," he grumbled, sounding frustrated.

"Indeed," Mr. Spock said in agreement, one eyebrow rising into his precise hairline.

"Bones, what about the medical end of all of this?" Kirk wanted to know.

McCoy looked grim, reaching up to pinch his earlobe between thumb and forefinger as he gathered his thoughts. "Gamma rays are pretty serious, Jim. It would depend on the length of exposure and on how much protection was afforded by the atmosphere. Remember the ozone scare in the late twentieth century? This is kind of like that. We'll have to gauge exposures from the ship, and protect ourselves accordingly. The colonists will probably all be affected, but to varying degrees based on the person's age and general health: anemia, minor osteoporosis, hair loss and skin damage. But, the good news is that this is all treatable with few permanent side effects, maybe residual skin photosensitivity. That's no big problem. I can't really give you a lot of details until we get there and have a look-see," he reported, noting Scotty's bleak look. "Don't you worry my friend, a few weeks in treatment with my people, and everybody should be just dandy."

"Very well. Mr. Matlock, will the time constraints of the impending nova affect your role in this mission?" Kirk asked the next man. "This is likely to be a quicker in and out than we'd originally thought."

"Not at all, sir. My people are ready with accommodations and decontamination facilities. Cargo bays two and three are cleared and ready to receive," Matlock responded at once, speaking crisply as he gave his status report. He was a fairly new crewman and determined to prove himself and his personnel to the legendary, demanding Captain.

"Well done, lieutenant. Stand by," Kirk said with a slight smile at the earnest young man. The Captain knew he was a demanding officer, but he also tried to be fair and give credit where it was due; that kept crews on starships happy.

"Spock, how about..." began Kirk just as the communications panel beeped at him.

"Bridge to Captain," came Uhura's voice; they all detected a note of urgency in her tone.

"Kirk here."

"We have contacted RL-995, sir," she said, sounding hesitant. The communications officer had spent a long, sleepless night sitting with Scotty as he paced his quarters, waiting to hear some small word from his aunt and uncle.

"How are they?"

There was a pause at the other end. "Only the short range computer-run communications post responds, sir. It answered my hail with distress messages. They appear to be on automatic cycling."

Jim looked over at Scotty, his own fists balled unconsciously in frustration. The chief engineer's jaw had clenched tight as he fought to control the expletives surely on the tip of his tongue. Concern was apparent on the other three faces in the room.

"Understood Uhura, Kirk out."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek TOS fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design, primarily in the movies II-V. I started writing this story more than 30 years ago and decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T

Pairings: MS/NU

**Chapter 3/?**

**I once was lost…**

Except for the occasional sounds of native birds and insects, the surface of the planet RL-995 was cryptically quiet. The landing party, consisting of Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Scott and two Security junior officers, transported into coordinates chosen by Chekov as what should have been a bustling research compound. Instead, the buildings encircling them showed darkened burn marks that appeared to be at least a year old. Other apparent fire damage was visible, and thick, ropy vines had overgrown doorways and some external pathways. One building was a crumbled pile of rubble, patchily covered with weeds and oddly pretty blue flowers. The fields, once verdant with healthy crops, were dusty, brown and silent. There were no people or animals in sight. The research compound looked inexplicably lonely.

"Good Lord in heaven," Scotty breathed, searching the grounds nearby and then unslinging his tricorder to confirm what his eyes told him. This was worse than anything he had imagined. "What happened out here?"

"Spock?" asked Kirk. He frowned at the substantial damage around them.

The Science Officer's tricorder hummed in echo with the ones carried by McCoy and Scott as he slowly scanned a full three-hundred sixty degrees. "Gamma radiation levels are at mid-range Captain, tolerable for short exposure periods. Respirators will not be needed as we hypothesized and we are satisfactorily protected by our coveralls. The buildings themselves indicate saturation levels on the outer walls at approximately two solar years. The interiors are slightly shielded, but not completely. This is perhaps due to fire damage. Earth-like, class M atmosphere and slightly higher gravity but it will not affect us in our short time here."

"Son of a gun! I gotcha," McCoy hooted suddenly, pointing off to their north. "Three life signs Jim, thattaway. The signal is distorted from the shielding on the buildings, but I can confirm at least one humanoid signal." Looks from Spock and Scott concurred.

"Very well, we split into teams of two from here. Phasers on stun, just in case, and keep your communicator channels open. Spock, let's get Uhura's help from topside to search this compound," the Captain said, moving toward the left-hand path.

McCoy and Scott took the path on the right, Kirk and Ensign Brickell the left, while Spock and Ensign Greene took the center one. Vegetation choked most of the pathways, but the way into the structure was clear. Someone, or something, had seen to that.

"What a mess," McCoy said quietly. "Looks like they had to move out in a hurry."

Scotty grimly shook his head. "No, those panels over there were smashed, with something heavy or by somebody verra strong. And those marks are phaser burns," he said, his voice catching. "Where could they be?" He felt his blood pressure rising.

"We'll find 'em, Scotty. I promise," reassured the doctor, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You keep your wits about you, too. If it's family, they're gonna need your head on straight, you hear me?"

The chief engineer nodded and tried to calm down. "Ye're a good man, Len. Aye, and usually right." He took a deep breath and followed McCoy into the next empty room.

Kirk and Brickell were having more luck in their search. Tricorders were a little help, but they managed to find a small room that was piled high with food canisters, books, clothing, computer equipment and other types of hardware. One corner of the dirty room was carpeted with ragged blankets and straw, and looked as if it had been recently slept upon.

"Captain, over here, sir," Brickell called from another corner of the room. He held out an antique picture frame pulled from atop a pile of books (also antiques), gingerly shaking out a few splinters of glass. The cover glass was cracked, but the portrait was clearly visible enough. In it were three people: an older, bearded man who was the very image of _Enterprise's_ chief engineer (his stance and his eyes were nearly identical); a kindly woman with an attractive face who could be anyone's own mother; and, a small child at her side. The youngster was an impishly grinning boy of three or four years, standing next to an enormous black and white dog. The shaggy, muscular dog was several centimeters taller than the boy himself. Kirk smiled at a fond memory of his own family.

"This is Dr. Scott, his wife and son," said Kirk. "Good work, Ensign; I think we've found something."

A fierce snarl from behind took them both by surprise, and Brickell turned just in time to face a mouthful of sharp snapping fangs. He cried out as the dog's teeth slashed open his forearm through the protective coverall and uniform, but he managed to guard his face and throat. Straining, Brickell brought his phaser up the side of his body and the aggressive canine was soon a twitching furry pile on the floor.

"Spock, in here! Bones! We're…" Kirk yelled into his communicator as he was barely able to block a figure rushing toward him from the corridor. The open communicator fell as Jim caught a vicious blow from a wooden staff on the side of his head. Ears ringing, he heard someone shouting furiously at him in a language he couldn't even begin to understand.

The person obviously had great skill in wielding the quarterstaff as a weapon and soon Kirk had several more painful bruises on his forearms and head, as well as a cut above one eyebrow; as quick as the Captain was, his opponent was faster and better. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see another huge shaggy dog leaping for the already wounded Brickell, trying for the hapless security man's throat.

"We're from the Federation Starship _Enterprise_… we're trying to… unh," Kirk gasped, wincing from several more hard blows to his upper arms, finally able to block the staff long enough to speak. His head was spinning and he felt dizzy; Jim Kirk had not had a martial arts thrashing like this in a very long time. "Listen! Listen please, I am Captain James T. Kirk and we are here to help you."

The mystery attacker backed off warily at the sound of his voice and eyed him, still holding the thick staff at an _en garde_ position; deep in the recesses of his mind, Jim knew that he had just met a master with this deceptively simple weapon. Not looking away from Kirk, the human called the two dogs over to him. One was wobbly from the phaser stun that was gradually wearing off. This gave the bruised and bloodied Captain a chance to see who his opponent was: a dirty young human male, no older than sixteen or seventeen Earth years, barefooted and dressed in a tattered jumpsuit. His skin was unnaturally darkened and he seemed to be losing patches of his auburn-red hair, even for someone so young. The boy questioned him in the same language as before and he still looked angry, dangerously so.

"I'm sorry, look, but I don't understand. Are you from Dr. Scott's settlement? We are from _Enterprise_ and we're here to help you," Jim said in what he hoped was a placating tone. _My translator is not catching his language at all. What the hell is it? _ He held his hands out, palms up and empty and tried to smile reassuringly as he ignored drops of sweat and blood rolling down his cheek. The pain in his ribs and skull was unbelievable. His breath caught sharply several times, and he knew for certain that he had at least one cracked rib, probably a handful of them.

A crashing sound behind the debris at the door distracted them as the dogs sprang after something. Kirk took this minute opening to move in and quickly shove the boy into a nearby wall, disarming him and in trying for an upper-body control hold, Jim heard bones crunch and crackle. The boy nearly fainted from the pain in his broken shoulder, and head where both parts of his body had struck, but he somehow managed to roll and throw the Captain off of him with a solid front kick in the chest for good measure. Spock and McCoy arrived just in time to see Kirk flying into a jumbled pile of machinery. Bones flinched as he watched Jim land flat on his back with a dull, and painful sounding, thud.

Ensign Lana Greene was a quick shot and heavily stunned both dogs on her way to help the fallen Brickell. His wounds were superficial and bleeding cleanly, but were not too serious as she treated him from her medikit.

"I believe that we have found your three life signs, doctor," Spock observed dryly, moving to help the Captain. McCoy and Scott hurried to the boy, who had slumped to the floor along the wall after throwing Kirk. He cradled an unnaturally limp right arm to his chest and was groaning softly in obvious pain. They could see when he caught his breath, wincing, but was otherwise unmoving and glaring down at his arm.

"Easy now, I'm a doctor and you are injured. Let's have a look at you, kiddo," McCoy said gently as they approached. The boy's head snapped up and he scowled at the sound of the doctor's voice. Still fighting mad with gasps of pain coming from his every movement, he struggled to stand with his back against the wall for support. He tried in vain to squirm away from the doctor's firm grasp on his left upper arm. Panicked and panting shallowly, he searched the room for a weapon, and his eyes fell on Scotty. In that instant, he stopped resisting and he questioned the engineer in the same strange language as before, an incredulous look on his face. The pain was too much for him then, and he passed out into McCoy's arms before Scott could answer. Blood ran down the boy's face from a smallish head wound as he fell over.

Scotty choked back a sob as he helped McCoy ease the boy into a more stable prone position on the floor; they could see the unnatural twist of bones in his shattered right shoulder. McCoy's tricorder was humming as he ran the scanner over the still form.

"He thinks I'm his father," said the burly Scotsman very quietly as he rested on one knee. "What happened to them out here, doc?" Scotty wiped at his eyes, brushing aside tears with his thumb.

The doctor swore softly as he pressed several consecutive hyposprays into his patient's neck. "Beats the hell outta me, Scotty. Dammit, Jim. Ain't nothin' wrong with just introducing yourself before you start throwin' punches." He frowned, shaking his head in disbelief as he continued to check for other injuries, the portable scanner beeping and whirring through its exam protocols.

"It would appear that the Captain is in no condition to respond, Dr. McCoy," came Spock's voice as he stepped over to them, leaving Kirk in Ensign Greene's care. "I believe he has a concussion, numerous internal injuries, and possibly a broken ankle from an awkward fall."

"Hmph. This kid beat the ever-livin' stew out of him then, serves him right for once," grunted McCoy in reply.

"A likely explanation, doctor," said Spock placidly. He then moved aside and removed his communicator, arranging for transport of the three wounded, McCoy and Scott back to the ship. He also arranged for Quartermaster Matlock's recovery team to beam down. Questions would be answered later. For now, the First Officer had a time limit before star RL-99 blew to its elements, taking the planet with it.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Two gurneys and a medical trauma team were already in the transporter room when they beamed back aboard the _Enterprise_, but fortunately, Brickell was able to walk to Sickbay on his own. His dog-inflicted wounds were not serious and he would be treated to prevent infection of the numerous bites he'd sustained. Scotty was running alongside the boy's gurney, guiding it from one side, all the while looking worriedly at the still form. His cousin abruptly regained consciousness before they reached the triage area and he struggled to get up and off of the rolling medical bed. Scott grabbed the boy's left hand, trying to calm him so he wouldn't injure himself further.

"It's okay! Take it easy lad, we're not going to hurt you. We're…" Without thinking, Scotty had spoken standard English. The young medic had a sympathetic look on her face; she easily recognized the strong family resemblance between Scotty and their new patient and had been briefed with the rest that some of the colony members were related to the _Enterprise's_ chief engineer.

"No, wait, wait! Please don't leave me! Don't leave me again," he begged as he tried to swing his legs from the gurney, speaking in rapid Scots Gaelic. They arrived at Sickbay at that moment and McCoy heard his friend respond fluently in the same language just before the young man passed out again. As the orderlies rolled the boy into the surgery ward, McCoy steered Scott bodily, almost pushing him, into his office.

"He needs surgery, _yesterday_, Scotty and I need you to sit tight," said McCoy brusquely. "I swear I'll fill you in as soon as I can, okay?" The Scotsman nodded, numb as he watched both his Captain and his young cousin being prepared for immediate surgery. He sat on the edge of a chair and settled down for a long wait, resignedly sliding back into the cushions. A few minutes later, Spock contacted him there and ordered him to stay in Sickbay. Kirk's injuries were deferred to Dr. M'Benga and Brickell's to Nurse Hamende, one of few multi-armed Sulamids in the medical division. Bones scrubbed for surgery on the boy, with Dr. Christine Chapel assisting him.

"_This poor boy_ is Scotty's cousin? You're kidding. Not exactly what I expected at all, Leonard," she asked in surprise as she prepared hypos of hyronalin and stokaline at McCoy's request. The sterile field had already configured itself on the now naked body of Connor Scott, his skin darkened in random large patches from radiation poisoning. A young anesthesia assistant fitted a mask over the boy's nose and mouth, and then stepped back to his nearby computer station.

"Yeah, me neither. He's a sole survivor too, looks like," replied a grim chief surgeon as he grumbled at the med-scanner's large screen, ignoring the controlled chaos of medical assistants bustling around them as he examined his patient once more; his people knew their jobs and he trusted them to carry them out. He frowned when he saw the damage to the boy's shoulder and collarbone on the scanner.

"Dammit to hell, will you look at that clavicle and scapula. Christine, we'll debride this tissue after we take care of the internals. I need a shoulder joint replacement please, one of the Jamshidi alloys; there's nothing but biscuit crumbs left in there." _Dammit, Jim_. _I know it's not your fault._

He waited several heartbeats as Chapel gathered the prosthetic device and the anesthesia portion of the medical computer adjusted automatically; much of it would respond to his voice commands once the assistant had initiated the lines. As he usually did at some point during a procedure with his closest colleague, Bones let his gaze lock onto hers and it calmed him; there were a few who said that he and Chapel were psychically linked when it came to practicing medicine both on and off the _Enterprise_. McCoy nodded and held out his right hand.

"Alright, Chris, hit me. Scalpel please."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Hours later, McCoy consulted with Dr. M'Benga on the Captain's condition and reported to Spock, who was now in command up on the Bridge. With the wounded stabilized and well cared for, Mr. Spock required no further information. Dr. McCoy had his own problems to deal with in Sickbay, and the First Officer was responsible for the colony's effects recovery, and quick exit, from the RL-99 system. For once, Bones was grateful for the Vulcan's lack of emotional expression. He himself felt totally drained, and more than a little confused by the previous events.

In the Chief Surgeon's office, Scotty paced like a caged tiger between the bookcases and the sofa. Patience had never been one of his strong suits, and this waiting for his young cousin to come out of surgery was almost unbearable. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard McCoy step in behind him.

"How is he?" he asked anxiously. McCoy hadn't bothered changing out of his scrubs but he was drying his hands on a soft green cloth.

"It was a little tricky with Connor's shoulder; he'll pull through. Jim will be fine in a day or two."

Scotty sighed heavily and sagged into a waiting chair at the Chief Surgeon's desk, limp with relief. "Thank God for that. And you too, Leonard." He looked as haggard as the doctor did. McCoy poured them each "three fingers" of Kentucky bourbon, which Scotty accepted gratefully. The doctor sat across from him, propping both feet on the desktop and he eyed the engineer seriously.

"Your cousin's in bad shape, Scotty, but it's all treatable. He had some internal bleeding and a concussion, on the same side of his thick skull as the Captain's, in fact. His right shoulder was completely shattered in the fight with Jim; I replaced it with a prosthetic and he'll have to re-learn how to use it. That's no problem with the physical therapists we have on board."

"Was it the radiation and…?"

"Primarily yes, it was and we're treating anemia and skeletal decalcification right now. It'll just take some time and we've got our work cut out for us," said McCoy. "We're lucky we got there when we did." He did not finish the thought. It was obvious enough to leave unsaid between the two old friends.

Scott nodded silently in agreement and closed his eyes as gratitude, and grief, washed over him. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and a single tear trailed down his cheek. "Yeah, we were."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek TOS fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and stories. I am using a timeline of my own design, primarily in the movies II-V. I started writing this story more than 30 years ago and decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T

Pairing: MS/NU

**Chapter 4/?**

… **but now am found**

Jim Kirk had been moved from the Intensive Care Unit shortly after an EEG scan had been completed earlier that day; fortunately, no residual damage was detected. The Captain's ribs and sprained (luckily, not broken) ankle were not serious injuries, only painful as they limited his mobility. Connor Scott, however, remained unconscious in a monitored ICU bed.

"Captain?" Spock said quietly, careful not to startle him awake as he placed a warm hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Jim." He considered a Vulcan mind-meld if necessary.

It wasn't. The Captain stirred and opened his eyes slowly, raising one forearm to shield against the brightness of the overhead lights. He smiled sheepishly when he saw Spock and McCoy hovering over him. "Morning, Bones. Spock." He coughed at the dryness in his throat.

Always literal-minded, Spock raised an eyebrow at him. "Good _afternoon_, Captain." The First Officer stepped back a pace and stood rigidly, not allowing the immense relief he felt to show.

"That was some donnybrook, Jim. Shame on you for picking on a sick little boy by the way," McCoy scolded in a growl that was laced with equal parts concern and exasperation. "Easy there. Don't sit up too fast, you have a nice concussion to get over."

_Sick little boy, my ass_, he thought but did not voice aloud. "Ouch, what else happened?" Kirk nodded his thanks as he accepted a small cup of water from the doctor.

Spock glanced over at McCoy before he answered. "Apparently Mr. Connor Scott and his colleagues were defending their home, sir." The First Officer had seen the illogical damage that Connor and Jim had done to each other in such a short time, and found it barbaric, even by human standards.

"As sick as he probably was, the boy is _tough_," said Jim ruefully. He was even a little embarrassed about the thrashing he had taken. "I bet it's from growing up in the enhanced gravity on RL-995, right?" _It could happen._

McCoy harrumphed at him. "That's what you say, Jim. Forget diplomatic corps. You're fit for duty, in case you were wondering. But go easy if you can for a few days, hm? You _are_ still mending in my opinion."

Jim swung his legs gingerly around and reached for the clean uniform tunic that a nurse had provided for him; Bones moved his boots to where he could slip into them from the medibed. He winced at the pain in his head, and remembered vividly where it had come from. "How is he doing, the boy I mean?"

"Weak as a day-old kitten. We'll be putting him in regeneration therapy this afternoon," answered the doctor, glancing at the portable scanner over Jim's head and nodding in satisfaction.

Kirk shuddered at the memory of his own experience in a tank of regen gel, years before the infamous "Five Year Mission". The slimy green bath, kept at just below body temperature, was not something that he would wish on his worst enemy, not even a Klingon. _Well, maybe one or two in particular_…

"How long will that be for the lad, doctor?" asked Scotty, striding purposefully out of the adjacent ICU ward. He had spent the night in Sickbay and had just returned from his quarters after a quick shower, shave and fresh uniform.

"'Bout a month, maybe a little bit more. It'll be rocky at first but I prefer to take it slow; so far, we're lucky to not have to deal with infection."

The Captain shrugged into the uniform shirt and adjusted it carefully over the rib support brace he wore. "What about the planet?"

"Uh, you'll probably want something to eat first. This is gonna be a long briefing, Jim," McCoy said, sounding grim. Scotty looked furious, and Jim later found out the reasons.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"No kidding, gentlemen. This violates nearly every treaty that has ever been written," Jim stated later that afternoon as he and his officers sat in the Main Briefing Room. "Are we sure it was the Klingons? No one had heard from RL-995 for nearly two years."

"Positive, Captain. It was they," replied Colin Matlock. "We found one disruptor phaser and an insignia patch in the main recovery room. Most of the personal effects have been delivered to Mr. Scott's custody: journals, books, and so on. The rest was scavenged machinery. Cargo bay two is being used for storage and I have a team cataloging everything for evidence. We also have recordings of the colony's... um, condition, sir."

Kirk nodded, satisfied at least with that aspect of the situation. "Were there any other survivors?" _One could hope_.

Spock shook his head ever so slightly, his lips drawn into a thin line; an expression of anger and disappointment for the First Officer. "Negative, sir. The two Border collies were delivered to Dr. Rigel's care in the Xenozoology department. There were no other human survivors."

_Border collies? So that's what those monsters were. We have those on Earth?_ "How about young Connor? Have you talked to him yet?" asked the Captain. Scotty frowned, shaking his head, and it was McCoy who answered.

"No chance. Christine got him into the tank a little while ago, but that's her field, not mine. He was kept under heavy sedation after surgery and that'll continue for the next four or five weeks while he's in the drink. I don't wanna mess up my handiwork on that prosthetic," he said. "We're pretty far from any Starbases out here. He wouldn't be ready to testify until he's off the meds."

Kirk sighed. "Not a whole lot to go on, is it? Scotty, you let Stan Blocker run things down in engineering for the time being. You'll be busy with a crash course in regen medicine. Do they still recommend company for patients in the tanks, Bones?"

"Absolutely, Jim."

"Thank you, sir," added Scott. Jim Kirk remembered the long vigils he had kept while his friend Gary Mitchell had been in regeneration for severe burns and other sustained injuries, so many years ago. The communications panel beeped and Uhura's face filled the small view screens around the table.

"Captain, you'll want to see this," she said and the image flickered to a space picture. Exploding into light and matter, RL-99 had reached the end of its lifetime. It was ironic that a star's most prominent event came when it finally died. Even filtered, the picture was painfully bright, fading slowly to black. All around the conference table were silent. There was nothing you could say to eulogize an entire star system.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Weeks later, the nova of RL-99 was long since forgotten by Chief Engineer Scott as he sat in the ICU ward of _Enterprise's_ sickbay, waiting, watching and hoping for the best. A storage carton was open on the padded bench beside him and it contained photo cubes of the family he barely knew, as well as some books collected by Amanda Scott and the journals of Dr. Robert Scott. All that was left of Din Lugh was in a few measly storage cartons, and in the frail figure that floated in the regeneration tank. He clicked off the mic and rested his forehead on it for several long heartbeats. His eyes closed as he allowed himself time to be completely still, though his thoughts were in slow turmoil.

Scotty sighed, deep-seated fatigue gripping his bones, as he watched over the scantily clad form of his young cousin floating there in the green bath, his body wholly supported by a webbed harness and other medical tubes and wires. A respirator mask kept the boy from drowning, but Scott was sure that he would never be able to shake the unease he felt around the slimy ooze in the thick polymeric tank. It did little to comfort him that Connor slumbered in a drugged, unnatural state while his skin and internal injuries healed. Even the boy's hair had grown back in, the thick red locks floating freely made a sharp contrast to the green gel.

At Dr. Chapel's suggestion, he often read aloud, or simply talked to Connor over the two-way microphone. _He will hear your voice, and it always seems to help for a quicker recovery_, she had promised. Communications Officer Uhura had come by several hundreds of times to talk to or sing for the boy while Scotty took infrequent rests; it pained her to see her partner in such distress. The engineer had not slept well since the beginning of Connor's treatment, so he usually wandered around in the coolant piping or warp core sections, taking comfort in the familiar surroundings and familiar sounds. He rarely planned these visits; his feet just subconsciously brought him there.

McCoy stepped into the darkened room, carrying two cups of coffee and they both saw Connor's legs thrash slightly in the warm, green muck. Scotty thought he could hear him mumbling something into the respirator mask but it was too fleeting to make anything out. That had to be a good sign though, he was certain.

"He's almost ready to get the hell out of there," said Bones in a soft voice. "Some part of the brain always knows when the body is healed enough, and raring to get out of that damn goo."

"Aye, that is good news," Scott agreed wearily, but he looked greatly relieved.

McCoy's clinical eye turned its attention to the burly Chief engineer. "Scotty, you look wrung out. Why don't you skip the coffee for now and go take a nap? You can either go to your quarters or use my office. I'll read to him for a little while to spell you." Scotty agreed, and handed over the book with a sly, tired smile. Bones cleared his throat and scanned a few of the sentences and found that the book of poems was written entirely in Gaelic.

"Oh, come on man, haven't you got anything in proper English? Latin was the only ancient language I ever learned, and that was under extreme duress for medical school," he snorted, reaching for another volume as his bright blue eyes twinkled with humor. McCoy teased his friend, but deep down, he was more than a little surprised to learn how fluent the engineer was. Even Uhura was surprised and the couple had been together for many years.

"Softie. Leonard, expand thy horizons," replied Scotty with a laugh, slapping the doctor lightly on the arm. He trudged the few short yards to McCoy's office, kicked off his boots, stretched out facedown on the deceptively comfortable couch, and within moments, was sound asleep. His broad shoulders relaxed as he hugged the downy pillow to the side of his face.

Two hours later rested and refreshed, Chief Engineer Scott's mood lightened considerably. He checked briefly with Stan Blocker, temporarily in charge of the engineering division, who assured him that all was well. Scotty was grateful to have such a skilled right-hand man. His mood improved even further when he returned to Sickbay.

"Well Scotty, now what do you think about the little redfish in our bowl?" McCoy demanded, grinning broadly as he jerked his chin over one shoulder. Connor was definitely moving around more in the regen tank, fighting the narcotic pull of the gel. Patients who reached this phase were ready to abandon the tank for dry air.

"That's aye a sight better! When can the lad come out?" Scotty took a sip of decaf coffee, handing over a second cup to Bones who nodded his thanks, clicking a panel on the nearby medical scanner with his thumb.

"We'll have him out, feet dry, first thing in the morning. Christine?"

Dr. Chapel entered, carrying the latest regen patient's file recorder; she read it over and liked what she saw. "Yes, 0600 at the latest. I sure wouldn't want him to wake up and have a panic attack in there," she reported happily.

"Neither would I," Scotty added with an involuntary shudder. "Ever been in one of these contraptions yourself?" he asked, flicking his eyes toward the tank.

She beamed brightly at him. "Not on your life since I am seriously claustrophobic. And I helped _invent_ the darn things."

-/-/-/-/-/-

For the sedated young Scotsman, coming out of the therapy tank was like being reborn. His new layer of skin was wrinkled from the constantly wet environment in the webbed harnesses, but the regeneration was healthy and complete; even his fingernails looked healthier. _Skin softer than a baby's behind_, McCoy had commented. Connor's hair was luxuriant and brilliant red in color, falling in thick waves well below his shoulders. McCoy had to smile to himself about that. While it had never been quite that long in all of the time he'd known the man, Scotty's hair had been red-brown in his younger days before the salt and pepper flecks had settled in, most visible now in the bristly moustache he wore. Bones chuckled as he recalled several old-Earth expressions about redheads and their tempers. He wondered just how much this youngster would be like his cousin.

Christine Chapel seemed to have read McCoy's mind, because she smiled knowingly. The post-regeneration diagnostic tests had been run (in triplicate) and Connor was bathed and dressed in clean sleepwear before being moved to the regular ward of Sickbay. His right arm was securely bound to his chest with a brace to prevent any damage to the prosthetic shoulder joint. Another padded brace came across his waist to secure him to the medibed.

"Let's start the stokaline and Ringers' supplements again, Chris. He can't weigh more than fifty kilos dripping wet, skinny ol' thing," McCoy suggested as he prepared the hypos.

"Agreed; I upped the protein grams a titch to give him a head start on rebuilding muscle mass. Come in Scotty, and take a look."

The chief engineer had just returned to Sickbay and strode over, grinning broadly. He looked as if a large weight had dropped from around his shoulders; his eyes shone with tears of joy. "Well I'll be... and what do your pretty blinking lights say, doctors?"

Dr. Chapel smiled fondly up at the usually dour Scot. His relief was that transparent. "Connor will wake briefly as he is weaned off of the sedatives, probably sometime this evening. Then, his body will make him sleep more, although this time, more naturally. We've found in the past that many regen patients need to sleep for another twenty-four or thirty-six hours to catch up on REM stages. He's lost about five weeks in real time, so the dreams he has will probably be quite vivid. It's the brain's way of getting it's processing and wiring back on track, so to speak." McCoy had deferred most of the treatment to her expertise. She had been on the original team of doctors that had developed regeneration technology.

"I'm sure that Blocker can handle things for another day or two," said McCoy with a wink. "Seein' how you've been taking all of this family time off lately."

Scotty leaned over and kissed Chapel on the cheek as he grasped her hands. McCoy stepped back in mock protest as Scott turned toward him. "Thank you. I'm grateful, grateful to ye both," he said simply as he hugged the oftentimes surly CMO. The bond between these three old friends understood the deeper, more sensitive meaning. Bones and Chapel knew that family meant more to Scotty than anything, sometimes even more than the _Enterprise_.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Exactly as Dr. Chapel had predicted, Connor awoke briefly around 1930 hours that same evening. Scotty happened to be standing beside the bed, reading the instrument panel with a now experienced eye and he smiled down as the youngster shifted his legs under the light blanket. Although he could not move from the protective shoulder and arm bindings, Connor sighed and blinked in recognition at the older man. He tried to speak, but could not manage more than a murmur; his eyelids fluttered as he fought in vain to stay awake. Scott laughed lightly, brushing a lock of hair from the boy's forehead, back out of his eyes.

"Shhh, you're safe. You're safe now, lad, I promise," he said in Gaelic, very quietly as he rested a warm hand Connor's head. "Go back to sleep for just a wee while, and don't you worry about a thing. I'll be right here, watching out for you while you rest and get better."

Scotty was sure that the boy had understood, because he nodded once and smiled in faint reply. His eyes slowly closed, as his breathing became deep and regular, the muscles of his face relaxing into a ghost of a smile. The lights in the ward dimmed to the shipboard night cycle just as McCoy came in. He also glanced at the panel above Connor's head and gave a satisfied grunt.

"You do realize, of course," he began in a whisper, considerately averting his eyes for a moment as Scotty quietly blew his nose and wiped tears from his cheek. "That as soon as this kid wakes up he's gonna have about five million questions for you, likely every day if I'm guessing right." Bones teased his friend in a soft drawl, long fingers pressing the diagnostic screens in sequence as he rapidly checked the boy's vital signs and latest blood work; McCoy had always had a knack for distracting his patients while he chatted during their exams. "You feelin' up to it?"

Scotty turned to Bones McCoy with a big grin on his face as he cleared the lump in his throat. "Aye, no trouble, doc. No trouble at all."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.

**Chapter 5/?**

**Rise and shine**

"Connor? Connor, you need to wake up now. Upsie daisy, boy, we are burnin' daylight," said a man's voice in his ear.

He thought he was still dreaming, speaking to his parents and this persistent voice was interjecting itself into the dream. He stirred and tried to move, a bit irritated at finding himself unable to do so; he had never in his life felt such weakness, all over his body. The voice spoke to him in Standard English and it was an unfamiliar voice, not really accented, or at least not any accent that Connor was used to hearing. He also found the man's idiomatic expressions and metaphors funny, even if he didn't quite understand most of them.

"Come on son, you need to wake up and quit takin' up so much bed space in my Sickbay," cajoled the stranger, gently patting the boy's left arm.

Mild panic swept over him when he tried to move again and now he could hear strange instrument panel noises in the background. His heart pounded in his chest and he opened his eyes abruptly, and found himself looking into an unfamiliar but very kind face. The craggy face had sapphire blue eyes that were full of concern. For him?

"There you go, see? That's better. We wondered when you were going to join us, young man," the stranger said, still smiling encouragingly; there was warm humor too as Connor still looked completely puzzled. This was one of the voices that Connor had heard in his dreams and he wondered who the man was. The slight fear in Connor's deep brown eyes changed to intense curiosity as he looked at McCoy. He coughed dryly when he tried to speak and found that he could barely manage a croak; his lips moved but very little in the way of understandable sounds came out.

"Oh yeah, that's the supplemental oxygen we had you on. Dries me out something terrible too. Here, drink some of this," said McCoy holding a straw to the boy's mouth. After a small sip of water, and then another, Connor tried to thank him, speaking automatically in Gaelic. He felt that in some vague memory, he had seen or met this man before but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He was rather surprised when McCoy shook his head and snorted mildly.

"Sorry kiddo, I don't have _any_ of that one," the doctor told him with an ironic smirk. "Do you speak English, Connor?"

"Yes sir, of course I speak English," replied the young Scot, politely and with an ironic smile of his own. He spoke slowly and deliberately as if he was out of practice using his own voice. "How do… how do you know my name?"

McCoy only shrugged, still smiling and he raised one eyebrow as another man stepped into view. Connor gasped in surprise at the new face, reflexively trying to sit up against the blankets and bindings on the medi-bed. "Oh! My… are you a ghost?"

Scotty chuckled and shook his head. "No, I'm nae ghost, lad, but I am a chief engineer."

Connor immediately brightened and barely noticed that McCoy had adjusted the bed so that he had shifted into an upright sitting position; the doctor loosened the blanket on Connor's left side. "Bu… cousin? Cousin! Oh, thank God you found me. Commander Montgomery Edward Scott, chief engineer of the Starship _Enterprise_," he exclaimed, making Scotty's name sound like a litany as his words ran into each other. "Are we on your ship? Your U.S.S. _Enterprise_?" He was nearly bubbling over with delight, and relief.

Scotty smiled fondly and took the boy's free hand in his own. "Aye, that we are indeed lad and how do you know _my_ name?"

The boy giggled, still shaking his head. "I have dreamed of meeting you since I was verra small," he said sincerely, in the same thick burr. This struck Bones as very funny, and charming. Connor heard the doctor chuckling and looked at him curiously once again. A long-buried memory struck him all of a sudden, from his parent's stories. "Sir, you _have_ to be Dr. Leonard MacCoy, also of the Starship _Enterprise_. Am I right?"

It was the doctor's turn to wonder, amused at the novel pronunciation of his name. "Well, I'll be. You have heard of me too?" His eyes widened and he quirked a proud grin.

Connor nodded. "Indeed, yes I have, sir. My father would share with me any updates that came in about _Enterprise_. Och, I canna remember all of the names though; there were an awful lot in some of the mission briefs." He looked down and realized why he could not move his right arm at all with the medical braces supporting his arm and shoulder. "What happened to me?"

Scotty went on to explain what he could, McCoy added in bits here and there. It took about fifteen minutes, during which Connor frowned, remembering. "Dogs? My dogs? There were two of them. Are they alright?" he asked with concern. "Are they here on your ship too?"

"The male is down at the vet. He is doing fine now and fully recovered. I'm sorry lad, but the female dinna make it. The radiation sickness had been too much for her," answered Scotty.

Connor shook his head sadly. "Poor lass. Amanda was a sweet girl, always lookin' out for me. I hope…"

Scotty spluttered heatedly as he reacted to the news. "You named a dog after your _mother_?" He wasn't really angry, just surprised at what he thought was an inappropriate name for a pet.

Connor responded just as crossly with a sharp, guttural phrase that McCoy was certain had to be a strong Gaelic expletive. He felt like a spectator at a sporting event, watching Scotty working his way up to indignation (which Bones had seen before, many times, though rarely was he on the receiving end), but it was Connor who politely interrupted the older man and then continued his tirade for several more sentences that the doctor did not understand; the boy was not backing down one iota from the chief engineer.

"And why the bloody hell _not_, Cousin? I had to do something after they..." he abruptly switched to Standard English and then stopped mid-sentence, looking embarrassed as tears came to his eyes. He groaned aloud, shaking his head ruefully at himself.

"I'm sorry, that wasnae fair. I dinna mean to snap at you like that, Cousin," said Connor, heaving a great sigh. "The name itself means 'beloved', in many languages, if you look up the etymology. I only did it in her memory." His neck and ears reddened where they showed underneath his long hair.

McCoy noticed that the young man sounded grim and determined, but the quick bristling temper (which was then gone as fast as it had arisen) had given him the answer to his "redhead" question. That was an encouraging sign.

"You're absolutely right, Connor," said Scotty, gripping the youngster's left shoulder, man to man. "I apologize too." At that instant, he realized that he was extremely proud of his cousin and that he always would be.

Bones smiled at both of them, glad that they had resolved their disagreement so quickly and propped his hip on the opposite side of the medi-bed as he folded his arms across his chest. "Entirely an honorable memory if you ask me, son. What's the male's name by the way? I've just been calling him 'Big Dog' and he seems to answer to that alright," he asked, changing the subject.

Connor chuckled as he cut his eyes quickly over at Scotty and let a sly smile play at the corners of his mouth. The expression was similar to the engineer's own wry, amused look. "I've always called him _Montgomery_, of course. Och, and he's a verra good laddie especially when it comes to chow time."

McCoy snickered, but Scott was really delighted to learn about his canine namesake. Connor laughed with them and in reaching up to his scratch an itch on his forehead, he looked at his long hair in surprise. "What in the world?" he asked, holding up a bright red lock. "I dinna have this much the last time I noticed. How long have I been here in your hospital, doctor?"

"Nearly six weeks," answered McCoy. "And it will be a couple more until you get your strength back and we can start you on some physical therapy."

Connor nodded, shrugging his good shoulder. "Aye, sir. Okay. But may I please get a haircut first?"

-/-/-/-/-/-

Due to the strong medication, Connor found it hard to eat much of anything, solid food-wise. It was Dr. Chapel who finally came up with something healthy that he could keep down: an old-fashioned non-dairy vanilla milkshake. To be on the safe side, she had added a few extra ingredients, such as a vitamin solution (which by itself tasted horrible, so she had been told), protein supplements and traditional malted milk powder.

"I don't think I have ever had one of these before. It is very tasty, doctor, thank you," Connor said when he had finished the vanilla malted.

"Please, you can call me Christine if you like," she told him, handing him a dampened cloth to wipe his mouth. "I'm glad you enjoyed the shake. My two younger brothers always liked them, especially if they were sick in bed. I think they stayed home from school on purpose a couple of times." For at least the hundredth time, she appreciated his impeccable manners and silently thanked his parents for the way they had raised their son.

The young man enjoyed her funny story, wagging his head. "Ma'am, I was _never_ allowed to miss school, not even a little bit, since my mother was the teacher," he said, grinning. "But I sure did try sometimes." They were still sharing a laugh when Communications Officer Uhura dropped in for a visit.

"Oh, good morning, Nyota. I don't think you've formally met our new passenger yet," said Dr. Chapel. "Commander Nyota Uhura, this is Connor Robert Scott." He blushed shyly as he offered his left hand.

"Hello, Connor. I'm glad to finally get to meet you," said Uhura, beaming at him as she took his hand in both of hers. "You and Scotty must have a lot of catching up to do; he's been telling me how happy he is that you are here with us."

"Yes, ma'am, and thank you. But, haven't we already met, you and I? I just can't for the life of me remember where." He frowned, trying to recall. A memory came suddenly and he sang a verse from a song that popped into his head. His voice was a soft but clear tenor, and both women nodded appreciatively. He looked to them for an explanation, a questioning look on his face. "I have no idea where that song came from."

"I sang it when I sat with you, a handful of times actually. Scotty needed a break and it was so hard to get him to leave your side for even a minute, Connor. You really heard me in there?" He nodded, curious.

"This is wonderful! I have always said that regen patients need company while they're in treatment; we have a lot of anecdotal evidence anyway," declared Christine enthusiastically. "What else do you remember?"

Connor thought a moment and hummed another song but stumbled over the unfamiliar words, this time from the text of "Charlie's Song". "Is that right?" he asked, looking to Uhura for confirmation. She nodded, smiling in amazement.

"I didn't think you heard me, and I'm so very glad that you did," she commented, laying a warm hand on his good shoulder. "Listen, I'm sorry, but I should get up to the Bridge. The Captain will not appreciate my being late at all. I'll come again, at the end of my shift. If you don't mind?"

"Uh, yes ma'am, please, please do," Connor replied sincerely, and the communications officer left Sickbay. He blushed again as he felt Dr. Chapel's gaze on him. She smiled and discretely changed the subject, fully aware of the effect Uhura had had on him.

"I'm interested in hearing what else you remember while you were in treatment. Does anything else come to mind?" She set aside the medical tricorder and leaned companionably against the edge of his bed.

Connor giggled, gesturing dramatically with his left hand. "Long, sweeping epic adventure stories, all in Gaelic; you know, all of the big heroes gallantly rescuing lassies and stuff. I had heard them before though," he said. "I guess that was Cousin Montgomery."

"Yes, Dr. McCoy complained quite a bit about not being able to read the books to you. So he improvised." Chapel found herself drawn to the boy's charm and sense of humor.

Connor frowned again, concentrating. "The Burning of Atlanta? What is _Atlanta_ and what are _damyankees_?" He had never heard those terms before, in any context.

Chapel gave a giggle of her own as she handed him a cup of water to wash down a dose of oral medication; he smiled his thanks. "You'll have to ask Dr. McCoy about that when he gets here: Atlanta, Georgia is his home town, in the southeastern part of North America. It is a very large, very old city on Earth."

The more they talked, the more Christine Chapel genuinely liked the young Scot (she learned too, that he had never been to Earth or any other planet for that matter). After only twenty-four hours, she knew a lot about him and she could hear much of Scotty in his phrasings and expressions. The new, short-styled haircut even further enhanced the strong family resemblance. She was not at all surprised to hear his career goal: Connor had wanted to be a starship engineer since he was a little boy growing up on the outpost colony.

"Will you just look at this," called Bones as he came in carrying a stack of computer tapes in one hand and a cooling cup of coffee in the other; he handed two of the tapes to a passing nurse. "I tell you what, Connor, you're already getting all the attention from the beautiful ladies, just because you have this handsome face and adorable accent. The rest of us don't stand a chance with you around, mister."

Connor blushed at the friendly teasing from his attending physician, his red hair enhancing it even more. Dr. Chapel was not about to mention Commander Uhura's visit, so she assumed a scolding tone instead.

"Leonard, even _you_ could take lessons from this young man. And don't you dare let Scotty hear you talking about accents; you know what he's like." She grinned conspiratorially at Connor.

McCoy looked only mildly contrite, his blue eyes flashing with amusement. "Sorry, ya'll," he drawled. "I wouldn't know a thing about 'em since I ain't got one. So, lucky son of a gun, how do you feel? Any pain or nausea today?"

"No, sir. I feel fine and I had a milkshake for breakfast just now."

"Hmm, no solid food yet?" Connor shook his head. "Don't worry; it's the medication doing that. We'll have you back on your groceries in no time flat. Take it easy though, you start therapy for that shoulder soon and I don't want you to mess up my artistry."

Connor rubbed his neck where the newly cut hair itched, drawing his foot up under the blanket so he could sit cross-legged on the bed. "I can't even feel my arm, much less my shoulder. Did I break it or something?"

McCoy winked and leaned closer to whisper: "M-hm, broke it all to pieces. It's numb because the shoulder in there now is a fake. Your fight with the Captain ruined the original equipment." He eased open the tunic in the front to examine the boy's shoulder.

"Oh, no. Did I really?" groaned Connor, mortified but watching curiously as the doctor moved his arm slowly to check his range of motion. "I hit the Captain of the _Enterprise_? I'll never get into the Academy doing things like that."

Bones chuckled and sat down in the chair beside Connor's bed, activating the nearby computer station. Christine Chapel excused herself to complete paperwork in her own office.

"See you later, Connor," she said, patting his leg as she gathered the small tray and empty milkshake glass.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that fight, son. Jim probably started it anyway; that's pretty much his SOP," he said as he focused on the screen, adding several line items to update Connor's chart. "Maybe you can work out with him when you get your strength back." _That'll start something_.

"Aye, I think I would like that. When will I meet him?" Connor barked a short laugh. "_Again_, I mean."

"I bet I can convince him to drop in to see you. Scotty will be here at the end of alpha shift by the way, he was afraid that the Engineering department had fallen apart without him. Uh oh, are you getting tired?" McCoy had seen a stifled yawn.

Connor shook his head gamely but another big yawn gave him away. "No doctor, not at all." He gave a cheeky grin.

McCoy raised one mildly admonishing eyebrow as he got to his feet, switching off the overhead light. "You can save these for later. I dug up some background reading. We wouldn't want you to get bored in here," he said indicating the stack of cartridges.

"No, sir. I won't," Connor promised as he shifted the pillows behind his head to get comfortable and McCoy helped him with the blanket, drawing it up to his chin as he tucked him in.

"Right. Be a good boy and get some rest so my physical therapy assistants can wear you out. It should be pretty quiet in here since you're our only patient for the time being. I'll be back later," the doctor said, waving as he returned to his office.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.

**Chapter 6/?**

**The comeback kid**

As Connor was weaned from the medications, hyronalin included, his appetite greatly improved. Due to the solid food in his system, he was also gradually able to get out of bed and walk around the Sickbay; much to the staff's consternation, he rarely wore the non-skid slipper/socks they gave him, preferring to remain barefooted. On his third day out of the regeneration tank, McCoy found Connor seated at a library computer console in one of the consulting rooms adjacent to the main ward. Because he was currently the only long-term patient in Sickbay, fewer medical personnel was needed; most of the minor injuries and illnesses they saw were from the day-to-day operation of a large Starship crew.

Bones chuckled to himself as the young man skillfully worked the console, left-handed. Despite repeated admonitions to the contrary, Connor had also taken his right arm out of the Velcro sling and seemed to be trying to work some feeling back into it. He had found an old navy blue lab coat to wear over the loose hospital jumpsuit, finding it much less drafty. So intense was his concentration on the reading material (McCoy could not make out exactly what it was), the younger Scott hadn't heard the doctor come into the small office.

"Good morning, Red. How're you doing?" said McCoy. He had attached a new, though not particularly original, nickname to Connor and so far it had stuck. Connor "Red" Scott turned at the sound of his voice and grinned broadly.

"Good morning, sir. Am I due for more needle sticks already?" He followed Bones back into the ward and hopped onto the exam table indicated by the doctor.

"You should show more respect for your favorite doctor, boy," McCoy scolded, smiling. He had quickly come to appreciate the Scottish brand of humor that he now received from two sides. The chief engineer and his young cousin often teamed up against the chief surgeon in their battle of wits and puns; Bones was starting to regret letting Scotty talk him into teaching Connor to play blackjack (and his bank account was regretting it too).

"How was breakfast today?" he asked as he activated the medi-scanner panels above the exam table, continuing the conversation as he worked. "Christine mentioned that she showed you how to work the selectors in here."

"Oh, aye, she did. Um, I had a ham and cheese sandwich, an apple and a vanilla milkshake with supplements as prescribed. It was all pretty good, too. I read some more of the tapes you brought me." While they spoke, Connor had surreptitiously worked his right arm back into the sling and closed the fasteners.

Bones grinned his approval at the choices and removed the shoulder brace without comment. "Excellent. How does that feel?" He was gently manipulating Connor's right arm and shoulder to check the range of motion and flexibility. Though a scanner would give him the same information, McCoy preferred to use his own hands. Connor's arm was thin and pale, but the shoulder appeared to have healed sufficiently and the regenerated skin was healthy. The dermal protoplaser treatment had left minimal scarring; one would have to look closely to even find a scar from the shoulder surgery.

"Weird. It clicks when you do that," he answered with a surprised grunt. "I had some tingles up and down my arm this morning, almost like I slept on it funny."

"That's nothing to worry about. This device will get quieter as you use it more. Any discomfort? None? Good. We'll get you started using it in earnest today."

Connor frowned as he now tried weakly to move his right arm on his own. "It's numb, I canna feel much at all. No biofeedback? I had to look up that word, by the way."

"Ah, good," said McCoy, smiling. "You did read the PT stuff. Yes sir, we will have to train you on some biofeedback exercises, and of course some strength building, too. In fact, one of our experts happens to also be a personal fitness trainer. Okay, all of your other vitals look good. You really do need to put on some weight, though, poor ol' bag of bones. I think Ekar will help you work up an appetite for lunch. You ready to get out of here?"

Despite his recent illness, Connor's excitement at finally leaving Sickbay was transparent. "Yes! When? Now?"

"Well son, yeah, right now," said Bones delighted at the boy's reaction to the surprise, handing over a change of clothing, with lightweight canvas shoes and swim trunks included. He nodded over to a small changing room. Connor changed quickly, even with using just his one good arm. Their walk to the main Rec deck lasted only about ten minutes from Sickbay, but the younger man's awe at the sheer size of the _Enterprise_ was clearly evident. It made sense, really, since Connor had never seen anything but the planet RL-995 on which he was born.

"I'm sure that Scotty will arrange to take you on a tour of the ship if you like," McCoy said, noticing the way Connor looked around, eyes wide open, sometimes walking backwards to see everything. He had long since appreciated how honest and straightforward the young Scot was. "In fact, I don't think we could prevent it if we tried."

"I would like that."

Bones led him through the general exercise areas, where various races of crewmen were working out and took him to a side facility that housed one of the smaller shipboard swimming pools. He noticed curious glances from some of the crew, which Connor returned just as frankly. McCoy nodded at several engineering crewmembers, smiling at the tall, red-haired teen at his side. He was sure that some of them recognized the strong family resemblance.

"Here we are," said McCoy, indicating the pool with an expansive wave of one hand. People were swimming or lounging around, Terrans and Aquarians, and various other crewmembers.

"Doctor McCoy, greetings. Are you well?" asked one of the Aquarians in the typical inverted speaking cadence of his people. He was a tall biped: well over seven-feet in height, greenish and scaly. The Aquarian looked at Connor with interest, which the Scot returned.

"Morning, Ekar. This is the new patient I told you about. His name is Connor Scott, but I call him 'Red' for obvious reasons."

Ekar laughed, a musical bubbling sound, and raised a webbed hand in greeting to Connor. Full of curiosity, Connor bowed slightly from the waist and spoke a short phrase that McCoy did not recognize. The Aquarian was clearly pleased, his vertical eyeslits opening and closing rapidly, and then McCoy understood.

"Ah, very well he speaks for a Terran. Teach him to swim properly shall we then. If your custom it is, Conn-nor, I will shake your hand." Connor grinned and accepted the hand.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

McCoy winked at Ekar and turned to leave. "You'll be just fine, Red; have fun. Take care of him, Ekar."

The Aquarian fluttered dual-pairs of gill flaps on his neck and dove gracefully into the deep end of the pool. Connor removed the shoes and exercise suit and followed more carefully, favoring his right arm. Ekar noticed this.

"Ah, have we much work to do today, Mr. Scott," he commented, chuckling in his own way. "Young ones on my planet are not nearly so reserved upon entering the water."

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Good Lord, Bones! You weren't kidding," declared Kirk over his lunch. Connor had just entered the mess area, talking rather animatedly with his cousin, Engineer Scott at his side. After the pool workout, Ekar had given him very specific directions to the chief engineer's office. Jim raised an eyebrow at McCoy. "Almost the same height and everything. Put a moustache and a red Starfleet uniform on the boy and you could barely tell them apart," he said in an astonished tone.

McCoy snorted. "Except maybe for the gray hairs, and I think he'll be taller than Scotty when he's full-grown. Connor is definitely a redhead though. I'd forgotten you haven't seen him in a while, and not the pair of them together like that. A seriously strong gene pool they've got."

The Captain had last visited him in Sickbay several days before. Regular clothing did wonders for a person's appearance. Jim had always found hospital clothes quite unflattering.

"How is he doing?" asked the Captain, turning his attention back to his lunch as the Scots gathered trays and started perusing the food selectors.

"Doing great, actually if I do say so myself. PT just started today for the artificial shoulder. Ekar is handling that part in the pool and in the gym," replied Bones. "He needs to put back on some weight and muscle mass, and that'll come along eventually."

Jim laughed at this and glanced down at his salad ruefully. "Lucky fella." He hated the "rabbit food" as he called it, but this was doctor's orders for being a kilogram or ten overweight. McCoy noisily chewed a big forkful from the fresh fruit and mixed baby greens salad at his own place and grinned back.

"Captain, Doctor, look who I found wandering around down in engineering," Scotty greeted as he and Connor joined them at the table. Both carried well-laden trays with soup, salad and sandwiches.

"Hello, Connor. It's good to see you again, young man," said Jim, rising slightly from his seat and stretching his hand across. Connor shook it firmly, right-handed. McCoy looked altogether pleased with himself, and rightly so.

"Thank you, sir." Like McCoy, Jim found the accent uncanny, as if he were speaking to a decades-younger version of Commander Montgomery Scott.

"You sure don't look like the guy who took me apart with a bo-staff," Kirk commented, smiling. Connor blushed hard, and rushed to swallow the bite of the grilled chicken sandwich he was chewing.

"Sir! I'm terribly sorry, Captain. I had no idea who you people were and it was..." he stammered. Jim had forgotten this young man embarrassed _really_ easily.

Kirk chuckled and held up a hand. "It's okay, Connor; bygones. Don't worry about that anymore, perhaps you could give me some lessons one of these days? Dr. McCoy has told me that martial arts is a hobby of yours." In fact, McCoy had already contacted several of the shipboard martial arts instructors, giving them a heads-up about Connor Scott. He thought it best to let the boy find them on his own as he explored the ship and found his way around.

Visibly relaxed after the Captain's reassurances, Connor nodded gravely as he sipped at a vitamin-milkshake. Chocolate-peanut butter had become his new favorite flavor. "Aye, sir, I would like that verra much. I don't often get to just practice with the weapons, or spar for fun, but I earned a black belt in both traditional Japanese karate and Chinese kenpo four years ago, uh back home."

All three of the older men shared a laugh at this, which Connor didn't really understand that he had said something funny. "Jim, you might want to get Spock or Sulu or maybe somebody from Security to go first in a match," McCoy suggested wryly. "You wouldn't want to end up in my Sickbay again. So, how was the swimming, Connor?"

"I really liked it; I've never been in a swimming pool before, just a big lake. I can already use my right arm more, after just a few hours down there. But sirs, Ekar told me that not many others on board can speak Aquarian, is that true?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Kirk told him. "We usually use Starfleet translator devices. How many languages do you have anyway?"

Connor shrugged. "I honestly don't know, Captain. But I do read and understand more of them than I speak, and there are some my throat absolutely canna handle. Darvosh, for example, actually hurts to speak; their vocal anatomy must be very different from ours. My mother never cared much for mechanical translators, so she rarely used them. But my Dad showed me how to repair one, just in case."

McCoy, catching a significant glance from Kirk, looked thoughtful. "Feel up to some tests tomorrow? No needles will be involved, I promise."

Connor laughed in appreciation. "Yes, sir. I have no plans other than swimming all morning after breakfast, if that's alright with you, doctor."

"Fine, and prescribed too. Scotty will have to show you to the vet's on your tour this afternoon. Dr. Rigel has been taking good care of your collie."

"Thank you, sir. Poor lad, Montgomery. He must be worried sick with wondering where I've been all this time." The boy felt a bit guilty that he'd forgotten about his faithful canine companion, so caught up had he been in finally getting out of Sickbay.

"With your permission Captain, I'll be givin' the lad a grand tour o' the _Enterprise_. We may have a fine young starship engineer on our hands in a few years," Scotty said, his accent thickening with pride.

Jim grinned, setting his flatware on his empty plate as he drained the last of his ice water. "From your clan, Mr. Scott, I would expect nothing less. Please excuse me gentlemen. I should relieve Mr. Spock on the bridge. Come on up when you get a free moment, Connor, and I'll show you around."

Connor stood when the Captain did and shook hands again. "Aye-aye, sir. I will be there several times I'm sure."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.

**Chapter 7/?**

**Martial artistry**

As the days passed, Connor happily threw himself, literally, into the recovery regimen prescribed by Dr. McCoy. This included not only the swimming with Ekar, but weightlifting, aerobic exercise classes, and even running. Although shy at first, the teenager became popular with the younger crewmembers, particularly young security men and women who were expected to be highly proficient in the combat training. One goal that Connor had set for himself was to eventually join the "Primary Hull Club", an elite group of runners who made it a point to exercise on the main deck, just a few levels below the Bridge. The primary hull deck was almost a circumferential path of the enormous outer disk, and going around once was not enough. One had to accrue a minimum of one thousand laps to join and even the Captain had not become a member yet although he was inconspicuously _aware_ of the group.

Naturally, Connor made many friends in the engineering department. Scotty was a popular chief and his crew accepted the boy as one of their own. It was not uncommon for Connor to visit them during alpha, beta or even gamma shifts. McCoy had asked him when he slept, to which Connor had replied "Um, just when I get tired, sir".

A major improvement as his physical therapy proceeded was Connor's appetite. He quickly became known in the mess hall as the man who could eat nearly as much as Changeling humans, a race of eight feet tall humanoids. But as a fifteen-year-old energetic human, he only filled out healthily, developing a lean, muscular physique from the frequent exercise that he enjoyed.

What made him well liked was really no mystery. He had the rare ability to speak many (dozens of) languages fluently and was willing and able to learn anything new. _Enterprise_ indeed had a varied mix of Federation crewmembers, with whom Connor could converse in their native language without the benefit of a mechanical translator. Uhura, Sulu, Chekov and others were delighted to get to know him and he was often in their company when they were off-duty, chatting, telling stories and playing chess or cards. Scotty had filed for, and had been almost immediately granted, legal guardianship, which would last until Connor reached eighteen years of age.

One evening as Connor left the swimming pool and stationary bikes, with a dark blue gym towel slung haphazardly over his shoulder, he passed by a smaller training room on the Rec Deck. He'd not noticed it before but what he saw through the observation window thoroughly piqued his curiosity. A dozen or so crewmembers were working out, and each of them was wearing padded protective head, hand- and footgear as they sparred in pairs. While he recognized some of the kicks and punches, it was a close-combat martial art that he had no idea even existed. Slipping in through the door as inconspicuously as he could, he sat cross-legged on the floor to watch.

The instructor was an older man, probably in his late-fifties, his close-cropped silvery hair and beard were precisely trimmed but for his age, he was slender and deceptively strong. He wore a Starfleet issue short-sleeved dark gray t-shirt and loose karate-style pants (black), held up with a neatly double-wrapped black belt. On his feet were what looked like a pair of Japanese hiking sandals, and he watched over his students like a hawk. His emerald green eyes under a deeply tanned brow missed nothing: techniques, stances, breathing… nothing. Connor could not even begin to guess where the man was from.

"Right and switch!" he barked and exactly half of the heavily perspiring students… both men and women, Terrans and off-worlders, stepped to their right to change sparring partners. The last one in line, a lanky blue Andorian male, ran to the start of the line to face off with his new partner. "Go! Jameson, I swear to Pete you'd better keep your hands up or she'll take your head off."

"Aye-aye, Chief!" Jameson replied at once, his words barely understandable around his bite guard and he corrected his stance. The young crewman tapped gloves with his sparring partner before they resumed.

Connor was so caught up with watching the class that he didn't see when the instructor suddenly and silently materialized at his side, standing over him.

"Can I help you, son?"

Connor jumped, smiling sheepishly as he got to his feet; the stern sensei was only one or two inches taller than he. "Sorry to disturb your class, sir. I've never seen anything like this before." He bent and caught up the water bottle he'd dropped.

The man turned slightly toward the group of students behind him, frowning. "MMA, mixed martial arts. And who are you?"

"Oh, Connor Scott, sir," he answered, holding out his right hand. "Glad to meet you."

"Chief Dan Borden, likewise. I run this quiet little end of the Rec Deck," replied the instructor; he gave a firm handshake, his eyes intently studying the youngster's face. "Jameson, I mean it! I'll knock you out myself if you don't get your hands up, mister," growled Borden with a quick glance over his shoulder.

"Aye-aye, Chief!"

Hands on hips with a slight adjustment of his belt so that it was aligned correctly with the midline of his body, Borden turned back to Connor. "And how can I help you, Mr. Scott?"

"Uh, I was wondering if anyone can join this class, sir," Connor answered, hesitating a moment under the intense scrutiny. "Or if it is reserved for Starfleet Security officers."

Borden's piercing gaze softened slightly as he shook his head. "Not just for Security. Do you have any previous martial arts experience, Mr. Scott?" The chief folded his arms across his chest.

The youngster nodded, gripping the side of his right palm, unconsciously mimicking one of the student's open-hand strike technique. "Aye, sir. I earned a black belt in karate, and kenpo, back home a couple of years ago. My teacher was Master Ki Tomika, from Osaka on Earth."

Borden caught the gesture and silently approved. "Hmm, good. Have you trained in any other forms? Weapons or anything?"

"Bo-staff, jo-staff… that's about it, sir."

Borden grunted his endorsement, glancing back over his shoulder at the class in session. "Break! Stay hydrated, you knuckleheads."

A few loud groans of relief came from the students as they made their way to benches across the dojo where more than a dozen water bottles waited. The sounds of Velcro tabs on gloves and headgear being removed could be heard as they made their way from the exercise floor, grabbing clean towels from a pile of folded items on a side table.

The Chief allowed a small smile, which remained on his lips when he turned back to Connor. "Well, first of all, you'll have to be cleared by the CMO, chief medical officer… Dr. McCoy or Dr. Chapel, before you can start in here, understood?"

Connor immediately straightened, grinning broadly. "Yes, sir! Thank you! I can get to that right away. It'll be first thing in the…"

Dan Borden held up one finger in admonishment. "And you don't have to keep 'sirring' me, son. I work for a living," he said sternly but there was a flicker of humor in his eyes that Connor had to wonder about.

"Aye, s.. aye-aye, Chief." Connor dropped both hands to the sides of his body and bowed from the waist. Borden returned the formal bow. His lips twitched, almost smiling behind his beard.

"Bring the medical report from the doctor directly to me, got it, Mr. Scott? Then we'll get your gear fitted and squared away," Borden told him, holding out his right hand in polite dismissal. Connor shook it gratefully.

"Thank you, Sensei," he replied, his face alight with enthusiasm. "As soon as possible, sir."

Borden rolled his eyes, gently swatting the boy on the chest with the back of his hand. "Right, get out with you then. I have a class to teach." He was shaking his head in amusement as Connor hurried out and one of the bigger MMA students came up behind him, draining a second bottle of water into his thirsty mouth.

"Who's the kid, Chief?" came a deep voice far above his head.

"New boy, rescued from RL-whatever it was that novaed a while back. Commander McCoy told me to expect a visit from him sometime."

"Huh. He any good?" asked the burly young Security ensign, Ivan Blasic by name, as he wiped sweat from his brow with a forearm the size of a small tree trunk.

Borden shrugged noncommittally. "We'll see."

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Front prone resting position, on my count," commanded Chief Borden as he prowled barefooted among the three lines, watching closely as all thirteen students got to the floor, readying for pushups; some of them were already breathing hard having just completed standing rapid punch combinations. Borden knew that their shoulders would start to burn any moment now. "Down!"

"One!" replied the class in unison.

Borden tsked his disapproval at one or two sloppy executions. "I expect perfect technique from all of you or I'll double it this evening… down!"

"Two!" _Better_, he thought to himself.

And so it went. As Chief Dan Borden supervised, he took them through their lengthy warm-up drills and calisthenics in the tiny dojo. A few of the students, Connor included, were more flexible than others and he knew that they all needed to limber and stretch their muscles well in order to reduce the occurrence of any avoidable injuries when they did finally start sparring. MMA, or mixed-martial arts, was a combination of many weaponless forms: karate, kenpo, wing-chung, judo, tae kwon do, jiu-jitsu, muay thai… all from Earth, as well as _kan-tah_ and _vol-sah_ from planets such as Vulcan or Andor.

After the last set of stretches and kick drills, he mentally paired the students according to height, weight and ability. Borden decided that for Connor's first class with the group, he would test him with a solo bout before the others sparred. "Alright, quick water break and Jameson, Scott, get your gear on." A few of the students laughed lightly and cheered for both of them. Connor blushed at the friendly attention from his classmates; looking way up as the giant Blasic tossed him a new bite guard from a bin.

"The rest of you, take a seat. We need to make sure Mr. Scott is gonna be up to speed if he thinks he's gonna join our dojo," Borden told them. He tugged on the side of Jameson's headgear to get the crewman's attention.

"Keep your hands up; three minutes," he said sternly, stepping between the pair of combatants. Jameson nodded, slapping his gloves together in acknowledgement and then he tapped one glove to Connor's, a sporting gesture. Borden checked that both men were ready and he dropped his hand sharply. "Begin!"

Connor circled tentatively, his gloved fists reaching out to block Jameson's jabs and crosses. He stumbled slightly as he backed away from two rapid sweeping crescent kicks. A heartbeat later, he found his footing and connected with head and body combination punches that staggered the ensign. What he didn't expect was the grappling part of MMA-style fighting. Jameson came in with a head feint followed by a full-body takedown, momentarily knocking the wind out of the young Scot as he landed flat on his back. Connor twisted away, landing a hook kick to the side of his opponent's padded headgear; this gave him time to spring back up, circling more warily this time. He gradually got the hang of combining his more familiar hands and feet of karate with the close-combat grappling. Jameson was more skilled, mainly due to experience but not for lack of trying on the teen's part.

By the time their second three-minute round was up, both men were tiring somewhat (Connor more so) but Borden had seen what he needed to evaluate the youngster's skill level. "Break!" The rest of the class cheered or whistled in support and a few patted Connor's sweat-soaked back, murmuring words of encouragement as they rose and lined up on the mats. Ensign Jameson bobbed his head and touched gloves with Connor, out of respect for a good fight.

"Good job, man." Connor nodded his thanks, trying to remove his bite guard without slobbering all over his shirt.

"Jameson, over there with Norton. The rest of you, pair up; practice kicking combinations," he ordered, stepping in front of Connor to help him remove his unfamiliar headgear. "And you, Mr. Scott, are with me. Go ahead and take off the rest of that gear."

"Yes, s-, er Sensei," Connor replied at once, confused but following the instructor to the far side of the dojo. Borden reached into a recessed storage panel and dragged out a full-sized, more or less anatomically correct grappling dummy. The only thing missing was the human-flesh toned figure's head; the decapitated mannequin even wore a pair of lightweight karate pants.

"You and I can work on grappling tonight and…" the chief said and was interrupted by gleeful shouts and catcalls from the rest of the class: "Headless Bob!"

Connor couldn't help laughing and even the dour Chief cracked a smile. "Yes, it is. Who told you people to stop sparring over there? I'm not tired yet."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.

**Chapter 8/?**

**Unburied**

One morning following Dr. McCoy's latest round of evaluations on Connor Scott, a senior staff meeting had been scheduled to discuss the results. Though he was not present for this particular consultation, Connor would attend later ones when his academic study plans were discussed. Kirk, McCoy, Chapel, Scott and Spock were seated in one of the small conference rooms on the deck just below the main bridge.

"I surely do wish all of my patients healed that quickly," McCoy began with a significant look at the Captain. "At least Connor cooperates with me."

"Reprimand noted, Bones. You put him on the treadmill already? I thought he was supposed to take it easy."

Bones shrugged. "There's still some weakness on the right side with the prosthetic shoulder, so he fatigues easily, but this kid is all heart. He takes prescribed workouts far more seriously than even most of these new Academy graduates. I'm very impressed with his recovery, not to put too fine a point on it. He found Borden's group on his own and starting working out with them in the evenings; I had given Chief Dan a buzz to keep a look out for him should Connor come wandering by."

Jim shot Scotty a questioning look; the chief engineer shrugged—he couldn't hide his glow of pride in his young cousin if he tried. "Really? That's not what I would consider 'taking it easy' at all but it's interesting. Dan's usually very…"

"Grouchy? Grumpy? Might be why I like him, Jim," suggested McCoy. Chief Dan Borden had been on the _Enterprise_ for about eighteen months, coming on board immediately after a mission to Kraush, near the Romulan Neutral Zone.

Kirk held up one hand diplomatically, smiling slightly. "I was going to say _particular_ with students who join his MMA classes. Chief Borden runs a very tight dojo down there."

Scotty and Christine Chapel turned away to keep from laughing. This had become, over the years, a regular discussion between the Captain and Chief Medical officer of Enterprise. Kirk tended to become easily overweight and McCoy prescribed new workouts each and every time the Captain had a physical exam.

"Sure. You're right, he's tough on the kids who make the cut with him but even Connor won't let you say anything bad about his Sensei now. It'll be good for him to meet people closer to his own age," McCoy continued with a chuckle. "He'll never develop properly hangin' out with old farts like me all the time."

"You could always spar with the lad again, sir," Scotty put in helpfully, all innocence. "He did sound interested if I recall correctly."

"Sure thing, but no more sticks of _any_ kind, and that's an order," snorted Kirk, unconsciously patting his left side where two cracked ribs had well healed. "Even sick from radiation exposure he used me for batting practice. No thanks. How did your diagnostics go, Bones? It's all good news, I hope." Chapel smiled as she clicked the first data screen.

"Thanks, Chris. Mostly, yes. A few more weeks of PT, and the classes with Borden, and he'll be better than new. Christine and I were not worried about that in the first place, we just wanted him healthy so that the other tests would mean something. I ran the usual; IQ, career orientation, academic levels plus some temperament tests," McCoy began, his fingers tracing along several multi-colored plots on the screen.

Kirk noticed Scotty's pleased look and had to smile himself. "_And_? I assume there's more."

"Well, career aptitude and interests were a moot point, sir. He'll make a verra fine starship engineer someday," Scotty said. All but Spock shared a laugh at this. Though the First Officer's face held no expression at all, those who knew him well could see a glimmer of humor. He, too, had met the young man as he explored the ship, and who had sought him for several games of chess once Connor had been released from constant Sickbay care. Connor initially just wanted to know more about Starfleet linguistics (and he'd read that Spock's mother's name was also Amanda).

"That's not all, Jim. Uhura helped me run the full communications panels and Connor is fluent in about _eighty_ languages, including Vulcan, Klingon, Romulan, Orion, you name it. Plus a whole shipload of the Terran languages, and not all of them are _modern_ ones either." Bones studiously ignored a mock-glaringly raised eyebrow from Scotty. Many had become immediately aware that Chief Engineer Scott and his young cousin Connor were the only two aboard who spoke Scots Gaelic, a very old language by any scale of reckoning. It rendered standard-issue translators utterly useless.

"And Swahili, and Russian, and Japanese. Uhura, Chekov and Sulu have practically adopted him as well as Scotty here, especially Sulu," said Chapel. "Mr. Scott has a black-belt, with specialty in the bo-staff and Borden's got him training with some crazy stick-things called nunchaku; I've never heard of those but the chief assures me that they are effective aerobic exercise drills." The Captain groaned inwardly at the constant reminders; even Spock raised a curious eyebrow at the mention of the deceptively simple yet effective old-Earth weapon.

"The similarities between my own mother and his are quite numerous, it seems. I am certain that she would have tried to teach me further in her linguistic skills if I had not been so focused on other pursuits," Spock commented with what sounded vaguely like regret. "I shall have to discuss languages with him at our next appointment." The others knew that he meant _chess_.

McCoy smiled broadly. "Even you have to like him, Spock. Here are the main scans: IQ, LQ, DQ, EQ, SQ from left to right. High IQ, obviously," he said, activating the screen on the table.

"Balanced by high logic quotient and emotional quotient," added Dr. Chapel. "As Leonard is so fond of saying, Connor is indeed a 'red-head'. Lucky for us all, his regeneration treatment went without a hitch."

Kirk nodded his approval, watching Scotty's almost paternal pride reactions. "What about DQ? It looks pretty low."

"Delusional quotient. He's rather realistic-minded for his age, which makes sense after all that he's been through. And his SQ is normal for a teenaged human male," McCoy answered. The "sensual quotient" was at mid-range on the scale.

"Don't you have anything bad to say about him?" Kirk inquired, half-jokingly. "This all sounds like good news so far."

"A hot temper, every so often, just like his elder cousin, and he's really shy around women. The boy blushes like crazy, which the ladies find utterly adorable, or so I'm told." McCoy waggled his eyebrows for effect. Scotty and the Captain chuckled gently.

"Bones, I was shy around women at sixteen. That isn't unusual for some men, unlike yourself," commented the Captain. He poked back at the good doctor in Connor's defense.

"That's another wee thing, sir. The lad isnae even sixteen yet. Next month—August nineteenth is his birthday," said Scotty. "It took some digging in the records to find his official birth certificate. So many of the files were badly damaged."

"Okay, we'll have to see if we can make it a special day then. Now," Kirk began in a more serious vein. "What about our RL-995 situation? He is the last known human survivor of the colony and the planet doesn't exist anymore. Has any further information come up in any of your conversations with Connor?" Jim looked at each officer around the table in turn.

The chief surgeon frowned and shook his head negatively. Scotty did the same and stared at his hands on the tabletop for a long, silent moment while McCoy responded to the question. "He doesn't remember much at all of the time before we found him. That could mean that the memories are covered up and buried pretty deep. They are funny things, our subconscious memories; they'll block out or bury whatever is too painful to remember from the conscious mind."

There was a perceptible chill in the air as Scotty's mood darkened at this. Kirk expected to see flecks of tooth enamel as the chief engineer's jaw muscles worked, frustration gnawing at him. Christine Chapel shook her head in sympathy. She too, had gotten to know Connor well in a very short while. As a long-time shipmate of Commander Scott's, she also knew how protective he could be of things, and of people, near and dear to him.

"It's called 'hysterical amnesia' in all of the textbooks," McCoy continued soberly. "I think he has blocked out anything that happened before about six or eight months ago. None of our informal chats brought up anything. Scotty's either. But, what we need to know should come out in a Sigmund exam. This stuff falls under Starfleet security, Jim, so we wanted Connor physically healthy before mentioning anything to you." Bones shrugged, looking from Kirk and Spock to Scotty and Chapel.

"I agree, Bones. It will be some time yet before a reply comes back from our first report. Apparently the Romulans have been more active lately, and so Starfleet's attention was called elsewhere. If you think Mr. Scott is ready, do it."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Connor had just finished a visit to the ship's linguistic department when he got the call from Dr. McCoy, requesting his presence in Sickbay. He and Lt. Commander Jan Kerasus had become good friends out of a common professional interest: languages. Though she was an expert in several languages and cultures, especially Romulan, it was Connor who spoke more languages than anyone she knew. Dr. Chapel had suggested that he tour Kerasus' department, partly to give him a project to work on (translator calibration) and partly to encourage him to meet younger crewmembers on board.

When he came into the ward, McCoy was waiting at a workstation, patiently going over medical records files on the computer. Bones noticed right away how much Connor had changed from a ragged and very ill boy into a healthy, energetic young man. The doctor often poked fun at Connor's irresistible shyness, but was never cruel about it. The two Scots returned the jibes just as easily, as "MacCoy" found out.

On the Rec Deck, Bones heard that the nickname of "Red" had stuck on the youngest of the Scott clan, especially among the newer crewmen with whom Connor associated. He had found a close affinity with the newly commissioned Starfleet ensigns and enlisted men and women. Most evenings would find him participating in the Security division workouts or other gatherings, at the invitation of his deck mates. This had begun when Dr. McCoy "kicked" him out of Sickbay to live on one of the co-ed BEQ (bachelor-enlisted-quarters) decks. The enormous collie, Montgomery, had been released from the vet's clinic, and Connor needed a safe place to keep his dog. The young Scot was now housed in the smallest of the BEQ cabins since it was the last remaining berth on the ship; he was thrilled about it too.

"I really do like dogs, son, but not in my Sickbay," Bones had said to him then. "He'll scare people to death and Lord knows he nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Och, I know, but he's not got a mean bone in his body. He chases Dr. Rigel's cats for fun sometimes," replied Connor, grinning in his particularly wolfish manner. McCoy also knew that he spent a great deal of time in engineering with Scotty, and had even picked up a few more of his cousin's expressions (and expletives, on occasion).

The chief surgeon pushed himself away from the console when Connor came over. "Are you putting on weight?" he asked, shifting into physician-mode. "You're getting a right healthy look about you."

"Yes, sir, that's what my friends were sayin' the other day too. I think so anyway, since my clothes dinna seem to fall off anymore," Connor answered, smiling thoughtfully. "Scotty is terribly jealous of my 'diet'."

McCoy laughed out loud. "Good. So is the Captain. You can probably cut off the supplements. How are the exercise classes going?" Familiar with the routine, Connor had already hopped up onto one of the diagnostic tables, which the doctor activated while he spoke.

"I like them a lot, the martial arts workouts with Chief Borden the best of all, of course," came the reply. "Swimming is not bad either, though Ekar is a bloody kelpie. I canna hold my breath nearly as long as he."

"Oh, that. Aquarians cheat. What's a kelpie? It sounds like a seal or something."

"It is a kind of dog, and one of the wee people who live underwater, quietly waiting for mortals to pull in and drown," Connor said, deadpan. He laughed with the doctor, who only recently had become more familiar with Celtic mythology. "Academics aren't as horrible as I had expected though math is makin' me pull mah hair out."

McCoy smirked at him. "I think you're just saying that, son, so as not to hurt my feelings." Scotty, McCoy, Uhura and Spock had all been involved in implementing a program of studies for the young man, who applied himself with as much energy for study as he did for exercise. Naturally, engineering was a large portion of the program.

Adjusting several of the readout panels, McCoy continued with the small talk: "How is Montgomery doing? I haven't seen him recently."

"I think he gets bored, sitting in my quarters all day by himself. We go to the arboretum, and to the pool sometimes. He runs with me up on the..." Embarrassed, Connor stopped suddenly. He was not sure if higher ranked officers were supposed to know about the "Primary Hull Club".

"Running up on the hull?" McCoy gave him a sideways glance and smiled. "Don't worry, I won't tell anybody. Youngsters have been running that for years. I didn't find out until a rash of midnight sprained ankles happened a while back. They sometimes have hash-runs up there. How far along are you, anyway?"

Connor visibly relaxed at the doctor's assurances. "Nearly two hundred."

"Well done, boy, no wonder you've been eating more." McCoy thumped him on the back in congratulations.

"Absolutely!" Connor said with a laugh. "Running and sparring and swimming gives me a tremendous appetite," he answered happily.

Bones nodded, turning solemn. "I guess Scotty has already explained about today's procedure," he began, switching off the diagnostic panel. Connor indicated that he had. "It's called a 'Sigmund', after Dr. Sigmund Freud who developed most of the original methods for psychoanalysis. Anything that you can't remember consciously, we should be able to get at only if you are relaxed deeply enough. We are very concerned about you, son. You're the only one who can tell us anything about Din Lugh and what happened."

Connor sighed heavily. "I understand. What is it that I have to do?" He sounded calm on the outside, but his stomach churned from nervousness on the inside.

"Not much. I'll give you a mild sedative to help you to relax, and there's a couch in my booth for you to lie on," the doctor said, leading the way and explaining as they went into the Sigmund booth. It was a simple enclosed room painted in soothing pink tones, with a comfortable recliner in the center of it. Lighting was kept low, and the walls were soundproof, so the atmosphere was almost womb-like.

While McCoy prepared the hypospray drugs, Connor sat on the couch and laid back on the padded recliner, lacing his fingers tightly across his chest. Bones noticed him frowning and patted one arm reassuringly as he adjusted the hypo harness on the other forearm. He would control the injection and flow of sedatives and stimulants from outside the booth.

"This won't hurt a bit," joked the doctor, activating the hypo with a touch of his fingers. Connor smiled ever so faintly before the familiar hiss could be heard.

"Of course I believe you, doc." Connor gave a slight nervous yawn as the booth darkened.

McCoy was glad to see that the young man still had his sense of humor. "You'll do just fine, son. I'm right out here and we can talk over the two-way."

Outside of the closed booth, McCoy sat at the observation window placed behind the patient's head. From there, he could administer the proper ratio of medications: dexipenithal was the usual relaxant for human patients, and anphedrin the stimulant. When body function panels indicated that the Scot was at the proper dexipenithal level, he started the computer interviewer and a voice/video recorder.

The first series of questions concerned childhood, family and early life. Connor Scott had been born on RL-995 and had never seen Earth, or any other planet for that matter. He had learned to read at an early age and began to study languages (taught by his mother) at the age of two solar years. Before the age of four, he took things apart, in imitation of his father. Growing up, the boy also thrived on adventure stories told to him by his father, recounting reports of _Enterprise's_ voyages. Dreams of becoming a starship engineer had been planted early in the boy, who longed for the day when he could meet his cousin, Chief Engineer on board _Enterprise_. McCoy had to chuckle at the end of this sequence of questions because apparently Dr. Robert Scott pronounced his name "MacCoy" too.

Judging by the responses, Connor had had a happy and active childhood with parents who fostered each of his "hobbies" with equal enthusiasm. Whether it was language, engineering, music or even martial arts, he was encouraged to enjoy and apply himself. It was another of the colonists, a painter and xenobotanist named Ki Tomika who had taught Connor to use the bo-staff so effectively and other forms of martial arts. McCoy had seen first-hand that the teacher had done a thorough job with those lessons. He also made a mental note to ask Sulu about the connection between the hobbies of botany and martial arts.

It seemed that Connor's life had been storybook perfect until eighteen months before the arrival of _Enterprise_ to the RL-99 system. Pausing the computer interviewer, McCoy entered the booth to conduct this sequence himself, and to give Connor a brief rest from the questions. The first two sequences had taken over an hour to complete, and no datum on the response sheets indicated anything amiss. After checking the dexipenithal level once again and offering a sip or two of water, Bones sat behind the head of the couch, inside the booth.

"This is Dr. _MacCoy_, Connor, so don't be alarmed at the change in the voice," he began in a quiet tone. Connor chuckled softly.

"No, sir." Bones was again glad to see that even now, the young man was relaxed and in good humor.

"What do you remember about the time before we found you? Before you came on board the _Enterprise_?"

Connor shrugged absently; Bones could see from the heart rate monitor that the boy was trying to avoid a complete answer. "I was alone, except for my dogs."

"Okay, before that, when other people were with you," coaxed McCoy, still using a quiet tone. The patient drew a shuddering breath, more like a groan of pain, and Bones knew that he was remembering everything now. "It's alright, you're safe here. Tell me what you remember, Connor. I'm here with you."

Eyes closed, Connor recounted the story. Because of the medication, he was relaxed and his voice was steady, but tears coursed silently down his cheeks, unnoticed. "We had just returned to the compound after a family camping trip. It was like a tradition with Mom and Dad, ever since I could remember. Mother always insisted on going so that I could practice conversing and translating without distractions. I would have much rather gone then with Chuchulain, the oldest dog, by myself. Or stayed around with Caroline, for that matter." He paused, smiling sadly at the memory of his parents, and his girlfriend.

"I know what you mean; I was fourteen once too. What else do you remember?"

"Well, when we got back I followed Cuc into our barn to check on Aine and her new pups. Mother had gone into the house and Dad went to one of the labs, I think. The last thing I remember was a big explosion in the barn, the house and all around. I was knocked out for a while, but I dinna know just how long. The dogs woke me up by licking my face, and my head really hurt. I had blood on my face and hands. When I felt like I could stand, I went outside. There I found my mother, dead under some rubble. I couldnae even dig her out. Wandering around, I found the rest of the adults, also dead, but with burns and these round bruises on their faces." Connor's face was wet with tears that went ignored and he spoke so bluntly that McCoy had to blink back tears of his own. He fought hard to keep his voice level.

"What about your father, Dr. Robert Scott? Did you find him?"

"Aye, eventually I did. He had been beaten—tortured I guess, and badly burned, with the same circular bruise mark on his cheek. He was barely alive. Dad wasnae able to talk to me and he died in my arms before I could do anything for him." Connor's hands twitched in impotent anger, though the drugs prevented him from moving any more than that.

Bones considered bringing Connor out but changed his mind. The Sigmund exam had gone over two hours. In the last, brief questions, Connor went on to describe how he had buried the dead colonists and finally found the surviving children locked in one of the buildings. All of them later became ill and the youngest of them died first, their strength sapped by various injuries and by what sounded like radiation poisoning to the doctor. All but two of the dogs had died as well. The last two pups were the ones that he named Amanda and Montgomery.

In great detail, Connor described a weapon that he had found while scavenging usable food, clothing and equipment. The weapon he described was a Klingon disruptor phaser, confirming the previously developed theory. The doctor knew from past experiences that the circular bruises on the faces were from agonizers, a favorite device of the Klingons. Knowing full well that Connor would remember everything now that the exam was complete, he administered a stronger sedative and watched him sag further onto the recliner. When he awoke, it would feel like he'd had a very vivid, and very painful, dream. McCoy needed time to report his findings to the Captain, and to Scotty, so he steeled himself accordingly as he filed the video into his main computer access. It was, without doubt, one of the hardest things he had ever done.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.

**Chapter 9/?**

**Like salt in an open wound…**

After his initial burst of outrage, Scotty paced the floor, dangerously silent, in front of the other three officers. At McCoy's suggestion, they were in the Captain's private conference room, just off the Main Bridge. Kirk sat at the head of the table, his fingers carefully steepled before him. Spock sat at the Captain's right, calm in the face of such raw emotion from the chief engineer.

"Scotty, I can tell you that everything possible will be done," Kirk began, though he thought the words rang hollow even as he spoke them. "You have my word on that." Bones steered Scotty gently, but firmly, back to a chair, keeping a restraining hand on his friend's shoulder. The chief engineer did not resist.

"Aye-aye, sir," he growled in a voice that was tinged with skepticism. "With not a bloody bit of physical evidence left, we canna prove a thing! All we can do is sit and wait for a blasted report to go through diplomatic channels and..." Scotty's accent thickened as it always did when he was excited or upset. He let loose a long, muttered string of Gaelic as he sat back, folding his arms across his broad chest. It was a harsh, and grating language when spoken through pain and anger. Kirk did not have to speak a bit of it to get the gist of what he had said.

"It's up to Starfleet now. They may or may not request a hearing, but I guarantee that the Klingons will be contacted one way or another, even if I have to do it myself," the Captain continued, planning to go all the way to the top chair of Federation command if need be. He had only seen his engineer this angry a few times before, all justified, and he too felt concern for young Connor. The burly Scot looked as if tearing something, or someone, apart would make him feel a little better. Kirk couldn't help feeling the same way.

"Why would they even want to go after Robert anyway? He was a civilian, a bookworm actually, and had a family with him for God's sake! Almost all of the colonists had their children there with them. Good Lord, if only I had stopped him from going to the..."

McCoy cut him off, quickly sitting back down beside him. "If only nothin', Scotty. We all know how stubborn you are. You think for one second we'd believe your Uncle Robert wasn't as well? You've told me a thousand times about how you tried to talk him out of going there. They all knew the dangers of neutral zone space."

Scott shook his head and scoffed lightly. "Bugger the neutral zone. It's been one treaty violation after another. Why would the Klingons go after a civilian operation? The planet had no mineral value, no unusual power source value, no strategic value at all, other than being on our side of the bloody zone." Scotty ran his thumb along a tiny crack in the table's finish.

"To get to you, perhaps." Spock's voice broke through the uncomfortable silence that followed and he pressed forward under three very different questioning looks. "As I have no prideful attachment to the issue, remember that we are all wanted men with regard to the Klingon Empire. Mr. Scott, do recall that there are warrants for our arrest _and_ execution in both the Klingon and Romulan empires, including you, the doctor, Captain Kirk and myself. There are not but two engineers in all of the Federation named Scott that we know of: you, your uncle and soon to be, your young cousin, I believe."

"Somehow they got wind of an engineering wizard named Scott who was close enough to grab, and they couldn't resist the temptation," added the Captain, now clearly understanding his First Officer's point. "The other colonists were just innocents… collateral damage."

Scotty turned pale and stared at them; he sat completely still and the others could see his changing expression as realization dawned. "Och, I think ye're right. There couldnae be that much of a coincidence, could there?" He ran a hand across the side of his jaw and then he cradled his chin in one palm, leaning the other arm heavily on the tabletop.

"Although the colonists and the planet are gone, Connor Scott is here on the _Enterprise_," Spock pointed out. Engineer Scott and the First Officer had never been very close friends, not in the sense that Kirk and Spock or Scotty and McCoy were. Instead, a mutual respect had created a firm and loyal working relationship over the years. And, of course, Spock had met Connor. Though he did not show it openly, he felt concerned too.

"What about the lad? What will happen to him?" Scotty sounded more reasonable now as his nurturing nature pushed through. He looked to Kirk, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

Jim shrugged and held up both hands in a kindly way; a smile of encouragement touched his lips. "You're his legal guardian, Scotty, you tell us. What can you come up with on such short notice?"

"At least he's not still in diapers. Then you'd _really_ be in trouble, old son, believe me," McCoy put in with a chuckle, his usual kindhearted bedside manner lightening the mood. "Listen, he is a strong kid and as friendly as a new pup; everybody on board loves him and I know you and Uhura do too. Right now, he needs you and blaming yourself for all that happened is the wrong frame of mind to be in. _Geez-Louise_, do you even realize that you're the only one he ever talks about? Jim may be the heroic Captain, and I may be the incredibly brilliant Chief Surgeon, but you are the engineer; it's aggravating sometimes, I tell you. Besides, I canna' talk to him the way you do." Bones made a fair attempt at a Highland burr on the last phrase, which made Scotty almost smile.

"Where is he now? Still down in Sickbay?" asked Scott, rising from his chair and straightening his red uniform tunic as he squared his shoulders. He knew that McCoy and Kirk (and Spock, in his own way) were trying to cajole him out of a very bad, very unproductive mood. "I should go talk to him right away."

The doctor checked the wall chronometer. "Probably in his quarters by now. I dosed him up pretty good after the Sigmund, but one of my people was to walk him home after he woke up. I prescribed some other ... yeah, _medication_, for later."

"Stan Blocker handled things before, so you are temporarily relieved from duty for the next 48-hours, Mr. Scott. Take good care of your boy," Kirk said. Scotty gave him a grateful nod, then left. The Captain and Spock turned back to McCoy, expectantly. "What are you thinking, Bones? I know that look."

McCoy frowned and glanced toward the door that Scott had just exited, making sure his friend was well out of earshot. "Inside job, Jim, had to be. Civilians are not normally reported in Starfleet channels as this one was. RL-995 didn't even have a defense system, just the mandatory distress computer beacon. Only an insider would have known the family relationship in such detail. Klingons don't usually go in for that sort of thing, believe it or not, unless they are totally changing their _modus operandi_ these days."

"I would tend to agree with the doctor's hypothesis and his logic, Captain. Dr. Scott and his colony reported only to the scientific community, not to Starfleet itself. They were strictly a research outpost and were located well inside Federation space," added Spock.

James Kirk's stomach felt cold as he realized that both officers were probably right, and wondered just how deep an informer on his chief engineer would have to be. _Son of a bitch_.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Moving at a steady trot through the corridors, Chief Engineer Scott made only a brief stop at his own cabin before heading down to the BEQ deck. A greeting bark answered his rap at Connor's door.

"Come in; it's open," called a voice, speaking in Gaelic, from inside. Scotty had to grin and shake his head fondly: Connor simply knew that he would be there as soon as he could.

Montgomery jumped up to lick Scotty's chin and cheek in enthusiastic welcome. The dog was tall enough that his forepaws easily reached the man's shoulders.

"Get down now, ye silly daft rascal you," Scotty ordered, smiling at the eager greeting from the big Border collie. He wiped the wetness from his face with a sleeve, remembering all of the trouble they had gone to in teaching Montgomery to respond to commands given in Standard English. Connor was sitting at his computer console (which doubled as a small dining table), engrossed in something, but stopped just long enough to refill a shot glass at his right elbow with Dr. McCoy's "prescription". Scotty recognized the shape and label of the bottle as one of the doctor's favorites.

"Please, come in and sit down, Cousin. I need just a minute to finish this." It was then that Scotty noticed what Connor was reading: a Starfleet Academy introductory article on the Klingon empire. Filling the screen was a picture of a Klingon commander. He could not discern which particular one it was.

"So, this is what a Klingon looks like," Connor mused aloud. Naturally, there was no Gaelic word for "Klingon". The bottle of bourbon from McCoy was almost empty. "Great big ugly bastards."

"Aye, that they are lad," Scotty replied, dragging an extra chair over to the table. He had pleasantly surprised himself in the beginning of Connor's time on the _Enterprise_, remembering so much of the family language that he was sure he'd forgotten. Standard translators could do nothing with the ancient-Earth tongue. His cousin downed the shot efficiently with a flick of his wrist, grimacing a little as it burned his nose, and yet he seemed completely sober.

"Have you come to get drunk with me, Montgomery? I sure hope you have something stronger than the doctor's wee prescription here. I might as well be drinking mountain-spring water."

Scotty chuckled and expertly uncorked the bottle he'd brought with him; he pulled a clean shot glass from a trouser pocket. The dog followed closely and sat on the floor between the two men, his expressive dark eyes watching Connor with his own unspoken concern. "Dinna ever let Dr. McCoy hear you slandering his Kentucky bourbon, lad. It's one of his treasures."

"Aye, I know."

After pouring two generous shots from the Scotch he carried, Scotty indicated the computer screen with a slight nod of his head. "What are you reading?"

Connor shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly. "Just some background material." He sounded quite casual and then he looked very seriously at his older cousin. "I will find the Klingon officer who did this, someday. And I'll help him wash the blood from his hands when I kill him. I swear on my own life, Cousin." A sound that was rather like a growl came from deep in Connor's throat (even the dog pricked his ears when he heard it from his young master).

The chief engineer never expected to hear such words from a fifteen-year-old boy, but Connor sounded grim and looked older than his years. "Aye, well a man's gotta follow his own heart and mind, laddie," was all that Scotty said, not wanting to encourage (or discourage) him. At last the young man turned off the computer station.

Neither had tasted the Scotch yet, and Connor turned in his rolling chair and took up his glass in a toast. "To my mother and father, and all who died with them. May they rest in peace."

"Amen to that," replied Scotty, switching to standard English, and they drank. As usual, the single-malt Scotch hit the back of the throat with a powerful punch, and then followed with spreading warmth as it went down. Scott was glad that he'd taken high dosage ethanol suppressors before coming to his cousin's small but cozy quarters; thankfully, it didn't lessen his appreciation of the taste.

Connor smiled faintly as he drained his glass, setting it firmly down on the table. "Ah, much better. Is this from home?" He too now spoke in English.

"Of course it is, lad. Picked up a few cases on my last trip back to Scotland," Scotty said with a grin, and thinking ahead to the day that he could take Connor there. "I've been saving it for a few years too; old Laphroaig is hard to come by way out here in space so I try to restock whenever we get back to Earth." Scotty poured them each another round.

"Dad liked it, Mom not so much. She might go for the reds: Beaujolais or a Merlot, but _only_ on special occasions. Dad, on the other hand, would sneak me a wee dram sometimes," he said, winking. "I do remember the lovely hot toddies they made when I couldn't sleep."

Scotty gave him a conspiratorial nod. "In that we are verra much alike. My mother didnae care for Scotch as much either. Neither does Dr. McCoy, now that I think about it."

"I must remember to thank him for the bottle. I know what he meant to say."

The chief engineer laughed at a sudden recollection. "I once made a batch from some flowers—like daisies, I guess, that McCoy had found on one of our survey missions. We've been known to experiment from time to time. You know that wee still down in engineering I showed you?"

"Aye. And?" Connor wanted to know.

"Neither of us can remember a bloody thing! I guess it was really good but I never wrote anything down; I've never reproduced it since then either." They both laughed at this, and Connor began to feel a little better.

Shot after shot of neat single-malt Scotch followed (though Scotty suggested alternating glasses of water every so often), stretching late into the afternoon. When the first bottle was emptied, they made a quick trip to Scotty's quarters and chose another half-liter from his impressive collection. Returning to Connor's cabin, they stopped at a food processor station along the way and requested a pair of thick-cut ham sandwiches.

"I don't know why I thought of this, but do you play golf?" Connor asked after they had eaten. He drained his first shot from the new bottle of Scotch and then drank from his water glass.

Scotty chuckled, collecting their empty sandwich trays and setting them by the door; they had moved to the small sofa and both had their feet resting on the low coffee table; the big Border collie snored in a nearby corner of the floor. "Aye, and very badly. I've tried it a couple o' times, but I have to say that it's no' my favorite recreation. That and there aren't many places to play out here, lad."

"True. My dad once entertained the idea of designing a course for us on Din Lugh. I wish we could have finished it. He promised to teach me how to play," he said wistfully. "Dad had some amazing stories of when he and Uncle Ned were boys, and snuck onto St. Andrew's. They got into so much trouble with Grandmother…"

The older man looked surprised. "Really? I haven't heard that one." Edward "Ned" Scott was Scotty's father, Dr. Robert Scott's younger brother. He was thoroughly entertained at the revelation.

"Maybe he was pretty embarrassed about it. Dad always said it was Ned's idea." They both laughed at this. The reminiscing seemed to bring them even closer together and a few more of the stories were entirely new to Scotty. As the afternoon wore on into evening, they slowed down their drinking considerably, now enjoying the story-swapping more than the Scotch.

Scotty checked the wall chronometer, noting with surprise that it was just after 1930 hours, and he knew that his ethanol suppressor would not last much longer. He poured two more shots from the bottle anyway, and held his glass in both hands, watching the amber liquid refract the light. Connor drained his immediately and he suddenly looked exhausted, the afternoon binge finally catching up with him. His shoulders quaking, he began to weep; it had taken a lot for him to let go of his grief.

"Scotty, I miss 'em. I miss them so much. I think I always will," he sobbed miserably; his clenched fists pressed into his forehead as his breaths came in painful gasps. Then he leaned into his cousin's shoulder and cried like the lost child he once was.

"It's alright, lad. I know, I know it hurts," said Scotty softly, putting his empty shot glass on the end table and bringing his left arm up to embrace the youngster. He himself felt comforted as he held Connor's head to his chest, brushing the red hair back where it fell into his eyes. "It's alright to miss them. In fact, every time you remember Robert and Amanda, and the rest, they'll be right there with you."

It took several long, painful minutes for Connor to cry himself out, thoroughly wetting the left front of Scotty's uniform shirt. Soon after that, he passed out from sheer exhaustion (and from a bottle of bourbon chased by single-malt Scotch). The chief engineer pulled off the boy's boots and socks, carried him to his bedroom and tucked him into his bunk with deliberate care. He patted the patiently waiting hound that now lay upon the bed too; his namesake, and Scotty found himself desperately wanting Commander Nyota Uhura's adult company.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.

**Chapter 10/?**

**The Five Stages of Grief**

Connor sat bolt upright in bed, groaning and wondering why he had gone to sleep fully clothed. His next coherent thought was momentarily postponed as he dashed to the bathroom, retched and vomited into the toilet bowl. He stayed as he was, steadying himself over the sink until the wave of nausea passed and then he rinsed the sour taste in his mouth out with cool water from the faucet. For good measure, he splashed more water on his face and ran his fingers through his hair. When at last he looked in the mirror, he was a bit surprised by the tired, drawn face staring back at him. He grabbed the nearby towel and leaned to get a closer look in the mirror.

"Oh dear," he murmured to his reflection, touching the puffy bags under his bloodshot eyes with the towel as he dried his face. "That's not a very good look for you, boyo."

Connor stripped off his shirt and trousers, tossing the rumpled clothing into the laundry chute and he stood there in his underwear while he drank a full glass of water. Rummaging around in the small cabinet behind the mirror, he found and immediately swallowed three anti-inflammatory capsules to abate the headache that was starting.

As he padded around in his bare feet, he saw his collie Montgomery, rolling around on top of the disarrayed bed sheets, making doggy-noises of pleasure as he rubbed his back on the soft cotton-blend material. Connor laughed softly.

"What in the world did we get into last night, Monty? I feel like I've been beaten wi' my own arms and legs," he whispered to the dog, who ignored him as all four paws stretched comically into the air. "Yeah, thanks a lot for the sympathy, pal. Silly bugger."

The young man shook his head at the dog's antics, chuckling to himself. When he finally made his way toward his computer workstation, he found the three empty bottles: one liter of bourbon and a liter and a half of single-malt Scotch.

Connor raised his eyebrows, giving a low whistle as he took up the two used shot glasses, carrying them to the bathroom to rinse them in the sink; he rested them upside down on the small towel. He drank another full glass of water while he was there and was actually starting to feel better; not quite hungry or sleepy but closer to normal.

"I won't be doing that again any time soon," he told Montgomery as he collected the empty liquor bottles and dropped them carefully in the recycling chute. His natural sense of order kicked in as he now moved around the tiny cabin, neatly stacking his books and computer cartridges at the workstation. He checked the digital chronometer on the end table as he plopped down on his small sofa, noting without surprise that it was just a few minutes after two in the morning.

He sat quietly for a long time, his eyes coming to rest on the photo cube that sat on the coffee table; facing him was a picture of his parents, their arms wrapped around each other in a warm embrace, taken around four or five years ago. He smiled at them, more than a little bit sadly as he recalled that it was he who took the photo at their wedding anniversary party.

"I miss you," Connor said aloud in a clear, strong voice, speaking directly to the photo. "I wish you were here with me." He sighed heavily and got lost in his thoughts. By the time he stirred again, nearly an hour had passed and his back felt stiff.

He stood and stretched, reaching both arms far above his head and thinking he should probably get back to bed, or at least take a shower. Trouble was, he knew he'd only toss and turn for hours; Monty had already gone back to sleep and he smiled at the dog whose legs twitched and paddled in some fantastic canine dream. Stepping over to his closet, Connor quickly pulled on a gray t-shirt and loose cargo pants, a germ of an idea developing: he needed a middle-of-the night workout. It took him only another two seconds to grab his padded gloves (but no shoes) and he was out the door.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Sweat dripped down his forehead and neck thoroughly soaking the front and back of his t-shirt, and Connor ignored everything but the heavy bag on its stand directly in front of him. In his ears he wore tiny receivers, and he'd programmed them to play (very loudly) the heavy metal rock music favored by his rather large friend in the MMA class, Ivan Blasic. He stepped back slightly, rolling his shoulders and neck to loosen sore muscles and then resumed the rapid punch and kick combinations in time to the pounding beats.

As late as it was, the Rec Deck was not completely empty; a starship as big as _Enterprise_ was a space-travelling city in its own right and it ran 24/7. He was alone in the dojo though, and was able to lose himself in the vigorous, repetitive exercise. His breathing was steady, exhaling sharply as he landed punches; the steady _thwack_ of his padded gloves as they struck the bag echoed in the brightly lit room.

Connor pulled up short when he saw a red-shirted senior crewman step out of his peripheral vision and he hurried to remove a glove and turn off his music. "Beggin' your pardon, sir. I didn't know there was a class in here…"

Chief Dan Borden raised one sardonic eyebrow, resting a hand on the top of the heavy black bag. "Having a late night, Mr. Scott?"

Connor chuckled and shook his head, blushing as he tucked the earpieces that he'd hastily removed from his ears into a cargo pocket of his slacks. "No, sensei. I just… I couldn't sleep."

Borden nodded slightly, accepting the explanation without batting an eyelash. "It happens," he said mildly and then he smiled. "You look a little bit surprised about something, son."

"I've never seen you in uniform, sir, I mean other than in here for our classes," replied Connor, indicating the insignia on the left breast patch. "Communications division?"

The man grinned. "You didn't think I earned my pay teaching you knot heads how to keep your balance all evening, did you? Yes, I head up the Communications gamma shift. Mainly keeping the boards on the secondary bridge working properly and translating incoming messages as needed." He shrugged, amused at Connor's reaction.

Scott chuckled again, tapping his gloves against the bag. "I had no idea, chief, although I guess I should have. My apologies."

"No offense taken," said Borden, dragging a wooden bar stool from the side of the dojo. He perched on it comfortably and folded his arms across his chest, indicating the heavy canvas bag in front of the youngster with a jerk of his bearded chin. "Don't let me keep you from your practice; I'm just here on a mid-shift break."

Connor dropped his hands to his sides and bowed from the waist. "Aye-aye, chief." And with that, he resumed the punching and kicking combinations on the stationary bag. It wasn't long until Borden was murmuring instructions, changing the commands as he usually did with the MMA class sessions. Connor followed along naturally, his body moving from muscle memory, even when he was ordered to switch from left to right or back to front; it felt smooth and instinctive and it felt even better now that his mind had gone completely calm. He had no idea how long he'd been at the bag when Borden called for a break.

They walked companionably to the side of the dojo where the water bottles were usually kept. Connor lowered himself to the floor to stretch while he drank thirstily from the bottle he'd grabbed and Borden found a seat on the low wooden bench, leaning back against the wall. The older man watched silently, recognizing the signs of Connor's distraction even if the youngster didn't recognize them in himself.

"You look like a man who is fighting off some pretty big demons tonight," observed the chief after a minute or two had passed.

Connor hesitated for a handful of heartbeats, nodding. "Aye, you could say that, sir." He unfastened and pulled off the padded gloves, setting them off to one side and stretching his right leg fully to the front as he brought his nose down to the knee. "I had a test with Dr. McCoy today, er rather, _yesterday_. A Sigmund or whatever it was called." He grimaced unconsciously.

Borden grunted in agreement, his jaw tightening slightly. "Not very pleasant if I remember mine correctly."

Connor's eyes widened as he realized that Sensei Borden knew exactly what the Sigmund exam was for. He sighed. "It helped me to remember what happened to my folks back home. To be honest though, I'm not sure if I'd rather forget or remember." Scott couldn't look Borden in the face just then so he pressed his forehead all the way to the floor, stretching his lower back and hamstrings.

The chief was silent for so long that Connor thought he had left the dojo. He hadn't. When he looked up, Borden's green eyes were glistening with a few unshed tears.

"Seems like a very long time ago, but I had a son your age… are you sixteen already?" Borden swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"I will be sixteen in August," Connor replied quietly, a little awed at the revelation.

The chief nodded. "Casey. He wasn't quite as tall as you but strong, really strong. He took after his mother; her name was Lena." Borden shook his head, a sad smile touching his lips as he took a deep breath before he continued. "We were on our way out to a listening post along the Neutral Zone, Klingon not Romulan, and our transport ship had mechanical problems. We were just drifting in space when the battle cruiser fired on us. You've met them too, haven't you?"

"Klingons attacked my Dad's research outpost, it was called RL-995," said Connor, his voice soft with understanding. "Did your wife and son die when the Klingons came on board?"

It was Borden's turn to look slightly surprised and he nodded once, to himself, in comprehension; he shook his head in answer to Scott's question. "Actually, they never boarded us. I picked up a transmission from their chain of command indicating that a new gunner on the ship just wanted some target practice. He or she shot us clean in half and not everyone made it to the escape hatches."

Connor flinched. He felt inexplicably honored and humbled that his sensei was sharing this very painful, very personal story with him. "It's not fair, is it chief?"

"Rarely is, Connor. You speak Klingon?"

"Aye, sir. All three dialects."

"Thought so, me too. That was how I picked up the transmission in fact, unfortunately this was more than twenty years ago and the technology has changed quite a bit. I could only receive messages and not send them… and then the escape pods only had distress beacons so Starfleet to find us for the rescue. They were designed more for safety in the crash landing part."

"What did you do after you were rescued?" Connor asked, curious.

Chief Borden laughed sardonically. He nodded toward the punching bag in the center of the room. "Pretty much what you are doing right now. And then I quit drinking too."

Connor blushed, glad for the exercise to help him sweat out all of the alcohol he had consumed. "Does it help, chief? Does it ever… feel, I dunno, better?"

Borden bent and clapped him on the shoulder. "Eventually. I want you to look up something when you get a chance, as part of your academic preps."

"Aye-aye, sir. Of course I will."

"Elisabeth Kubler-Ross was a grief counselor, an expert in the twentieth century," Borden said. "I think you should read some of what she wrote. It still applies, even today."

Connor got to his feet, picking up his boxing gloves and tucking them under one arm as Borden turned to leave. "I'll find it, sir. And chief?"

Dan Borden paused mid-stride, his eyebrow rose in a question.

"Thank you."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters. Sexuality strongly implied.

Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.

**Chapter 11/?**

**Healing**

The tinny electronic chime of the alarm clock was rudely intruding on his rather enjoyable erotic dream and he tried to grumble it away, reaching a heavy hand to his left, toward the nightstand where the device usually rested. Trouble was, Scotty wasn't in his own quarters so his nightstand (and bad-mannered alarm clock) weren't within reach. He lifted his head off the pillow, momentarily confused.

"Mmph—oh hell, where is that bloody thing?"

To his right, he felt and heard a sleepy, altogether feminine giggle. "Over here. I've got it, love." At last, the ringing was silenced.

Scotty smiled in the dark, finally recollecting the past night's very enjoyable activities; it went far to explain why his legs and back were so pleasantly sore. It also went far to explain why he was sleeping in the nude and was not in his own bed, an occasional and not unheard of circumstance. He placed a kiss to the side of the woman's forehead just as she clicked on the light. The brightly colored night kerchief she wore (to protect her hair) looked cheerful at that ungodly hour of the morning.

"Hmm, good morning Commander Uhura," he murmured with his eyes closed, feeling her turn toward him, cradled in his right arm. The warmth of her body against his had to be one of the best feelings he'd ever known.

"And a good morning to you as well, Commander Scott," she answered, her warm breath tickling the side of his chest. She caressed the soft hairs there, drawing her fingernails gently back and forth, raising gooseflesh.

Scotty yawned, stretching his left arm up and back to grip the headboard, feeling taut muscles protesting as he tucked his forearm under his head. "What time is it?"

"Zero five zero five," Uhura told him in her best communications officer voice.

The engineer chuckled. "Och dear lass, that is far too early for me. I'll be needing my beauty sleep else I may get run out of the senior staff meeting."

"Aww, you poor man," she said, sitting up and smiling at him as the sheet fell partly away. His gaze wandered down to the tops of her bare, full breasts (where he had in the last eight hours placed a line of tiny love marks), and then back up to her face. "I was hoping you'd be a good laddie and wash my back for me before we have to report for duty at zero eight."

Scotty's eyes twinkled naughtily at her. "Oh aye, and what if I'm a _bad_ 'un?" Uhura bit her lower lip, white teeth gleaming against her delicious coffee-colored skin and she leaned down to whisper in his ear. Her delighted, flirty laughter echoed in her quarters as she got up and headed naked toward the bathroom.

Whatever it was that she said, he gulped noisily and followed her, grinning broadly, to the waiting shower as fast as his feet would carry him.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

As calm and collected now as she'd been quivering and crying out in pleasure as her climax overwhelmed her just an hour before, Commander Uhura walked with her hand companionably tucked into the crook of Scotty's left elbow. They made their way to the main turbolift that would take them to the largest of the ship's mess halls. When the lift doors whisked shut, Scott steered her to one side so that her back rested against the wall. He deftly hit several control panel buttons in sequence, temporarily disabling the lift between two decks. He gave himself about thirty seconds delay before the maintenance alarms would sound.

He kissed her lips, quickly deepening the kiss, both moaning as their tongues danced. "Thank you, Nyota, my lovely, lovely lass," he said, pulling back slightly to look in her eyes; Scotty appreciated how beautiful she looked, even in her uniform and he always made sure to tell her so. "For last night and for this morning."

Uhura smiled the smile of a well-satisfied woman and she reached up with her thumb to dab a bit of lipstick away from the corner of his mouth. "I enjoyed it too; you're welcome." She straightened the gold pips on his collar, smoothing down his tunic as he stepped a pace back, gave a voice-recognition command and the lift continued on its way.

"You truly are the most understanding woman I know." Scotty cleared his throat and they couldn't resist a brief laugh; the couple had moved well beyond the stage where they skulked about the _Enterprise_ looking like they'd had too much sex and not enough sleep. They were both decorated and mature officers, comfortable enough in their own skins to enjoy their love for each other as well as their duties.

_I love you_, mouthed Scotty as the lift doors opened to admit First Officer Spock. Uhura's bright smile was still on her face as she greeted the tall, slender half-Vulcan.

"Good morning, Mr. Spock," she said cheerfully. "Would you care to join us for breakfast before the Captain's meeting?"

Spock raised an eyebrow and nodded greetings to each one in turn. "Indeed, I will, thank you, Ms. Uhura. Mr. Scott."

One had to know him really, really well to know that he was delighted to see them happy together.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Scotty did not begin to worry about his young cousin until the third day. After their drinking session on that afternoon, Connor Scott had essentially disappeared. As a Constitution-class starship, the _Enterprise_ was a large vessel, and he could have been anywhere. The worried chief engineer went first to Dr. McCoy, who had far more experience in dealing with young people on a personal level. McCoy's own daughter, Joanna, now a very successful and well-reputed medical doctor on Earth (Charlotte, North Carolina) in her own right, had been fifteen once.

"I'm sure he's fine and I know for a fact that Chief Borden saw Connor in the dojo the other day working out at three-thirty in the blessed morning," Bones replied, offering little in the way of advice. "It's not like he got off at our last stop or anything." Scott started to protest but Bones raised a hand.

"Now, come on Scotty, trust me. I'm sure he's fine. People deal with their grief in lots of different ways. In fact, he's probably off running the hull with that great big hound of his, thinking things through. Sorting laundry, so to speak." McCoy smiled kindly at his old friend's discomfort, remembering how helpless he had felt when Joanna was born—and he was a fully-vetted doctor who had completed a year-long pediatric medicine rotation.

"Aye, I know all that. I'm just a wee bit worried," he said with a shrug. He looked a little sheepish. "I'm not used to, you know…"

Leonard McCoy could not help laughing, happy that Scotty joined along with him. "Hell, be glad Connor's not a girl. Jesus! Joanna was a real basket case at this age. Boys and stuff." He smacked his own forehead in mock exasperation.

The burly Scot nodded over at the Kentucky bourbon company framed advert that rested on the doctor's bookshelf behind his desk. "You know, doc, if we take him with us on shore leave someday I'd bet a week's pay that he could drink you under the table."

"Speak for yourself," snickered McCoy, his blue eyes sparkling. "But let's give it a couple of years before we try, we don't want to stunt his growth. You know you could've run the computer to find him, or have Uhura or Borden page him."

Scotty shrugged again, this time a bit guiltily. "No, that was her suggestion too and I asked Nyota not to do it. It would be too much like spying on him." They both laughed at his "mother-hen" attitude.

"As his doctor, and your best friend, I'm sure he'll turn up when he's damn well ready."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Later in the day, Commander Scott mulled over what the doctor had said. He knew engines and machines, most of which tended to stay put. Young people, on the other hand, moved around a lot. Sighing heavily, Scotty went back to reading reports. His desk was laden with stacks of reports, technical journals and spare parts, but he knew where everything would be in a moment's search. He firmly believed in the balance of a neat cabin, a meticulously tidy tool room and a "lived-in" chief engineer's office, at least until it was time for an inspection: as chief engineering officer, he didn't bother to inspect his own office. Nearly an hour had passed when he heard a rap at his open door. It was Connor.

"Good afternoon, Cousin," he greeted politely, standing in the doorway.

Scotty had been frowning down at some figures on the materials report he was reading and his expression momentarily remained the same as he looked up. "Afternoon, yourself. Glad to see you're back," the engineer said curtly. At Scotty's subtle nod, Connor came in and sat across from him. _At_ _attention_? wondered Scotty to himself.

"I apologize for causing you and Commander Uhura to worry," he began. When the older man made no response, he added quickly: "Did I?"

Montgomery Scott tried, and failed, to maintain a stern visage. At Connor's stricken look, he immediately softened his expression. "Of course I was worried, laddie, we both were. But Dr. McCoy advised me to wait until you were ready to come around on your own."

The young man nodded, relieved. "I've just been off thinking, and running, up on the hull. It's ideal for that sort of thing. Montgomery kept me company."

Curious, Scotty couldn't help asking: "How many laps did you put in?"

Grinning, Connor shrugged; Scotty's own endearing expression. "I dunno, I lost count. We just went around, and around, and around. I am verra close to the one thousand mark, though."

Scott looked closer at him. Connor looked haggard and tired with dark circles under his eyes, but he had obviously just showered since the top of his red hair was still damp. "How are you doing, lad?"

"I'm alright, better anyway. I'll just get something to eat and then go sleep awhile." He paused, but looked as if he had something more to say. "What happens now, Scotty? We don't have a strong case, and from what I've read, the Klingons wouldnae be very concerned regardless of what evidence we had."

"What do you want to do?" asked Scotty. "It's ultimately up to you, but I'll help in every way I can. You know that."

"Aye. Is it true that you came into Starfleet straight out of engineering school?"

Wondering where this would lead, the chief engineer nodded. "Fresh out of exams and onto a space traveling ship."

Connor considered this a moment. "Then I want to go to the Academy, and study both engineering and linguistics. That's the best for me, in their memory." He looked directly at his cousin, eye to eye. "I want to be a Starfleet officer, like you."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.

**Chapter 12/?**

**Name day**

Connor thumbed the buzzer once and courteously stepped back into the center of the corridor, turning slightly to check that he had read the correct number on the Officer's deck; 17-OC was stamped on the doorjamb. He had never visited Commander Uhura's quarters before but he'd followed her directions from the BEQ deck precisely. The young man looked down at his trousers, brushing aside a minute speck of lint on the dark blue material.

The door slid open and he was instantly captivated, staring at the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen in his sixteen years: Nyota Uhura wore a forest green and yellow wrap-around dress with a matching slender head scarf that trailed partway down her back. The smooth, bare skin of her graceful arms was even more radiant in contrast to the bright green and yellow. He literally shook himself out of a fog when she reached up to embrace him.

"There you are Connor, right on time. Come in, come in," she said, smiling warmly and kissing his cheek, gently steering him into her quarters. "Welcome and happy birthday, dear one!" Connor leaned back to admire the dress she wore, holding both of her hands in his; the cowrie shells on her bracelet rapped in soft musical accompaniment.

"Thank you, ma'am. These are lovely colors," he said, blushing as he nearly always did in her presence (the young man had had a crush on the Communications officer since he arrived on board the _Enterprise_). "Is this something traditionally worn back home for you?"

She smiled appreciatively at the genuine compliment, stepping aside so that the long pleated skirts swirled about her ankles. On her feet were soft indoor slippers in a complementary green hue. "Some of it; I modified an outfit that I found in Nairobi. Do you like it?"

"Aye, I do, very much; it's better than the unif…" Connor replied, pausing abruptly when Scotty stepped around the corner from the dining alcove and into view. He too, was dressed in casual attire—dark slacks and a white shirt with the long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but it was the clan Scott tartan Glengarry hat, worn at a jaunty angle, that really got the young man's attention.

"Hoot mon, that's just what we need around here, Montgomery!" said Connor with enthusiasm, snickering at the peaked black hat, with its red and white dicing band and the long plaid streamers down the back. Scotty chuckled at the teasing, coming over to embrace him roughly. Uhura couldn't help but grin as she watched the two handsome cousins together, pounding each other on the back: seeing Connor constantly reminded her of the _Enterprise's_ chief engineer in his younger years.

"Aye, well, the sporran still fit okay but my bonny kilt and Prince Charlie jacket needed a bit of altering," Scotty explained, patting his somewhat expanded middle with a rueful grin. "I hadnae worn them in a while."

He bent down to kiss Uhura on the lips and then he made shooing motions with both hands. "Away wi' ye then. You two go sit and chat a wee while; I'll finish getting things ready." The engineer removed his hat, smoothing down his salt-and-pepper hair with a deft palm and hung the cap carefully on the antique coat rack by the door.

"I never knew you could cook. It smells pretty good in there," Connor commented as he sat with Commander Uhura in her living room. She smiled conspiratorially at him.

"It's not _really_ cooking," she stage-whispered behind her hand. "But it'll be a fantastic meal, I'm sure."

"Oh hush, I heard that, Nyota darlin'," Scotty called as he shifted covered platters from a galley cart to the center of the table. "Don't you worry, lad. Chief Bryant has never let us down."

While Connor and Uhura chatted quietly in the living room for a few minutes (he asked her about the tribal décor—the wall hanging and faux-ivory figurines were a big part of her south and east African heritage), Scotty busied himself with their dinner. He left the cloches in place but the table had been elegantly set for three with gold-rimmed china and heavy flatware, even the water glasses were square-cut crystal.

"Right, okay my lovelies," Scotty said at last, rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation as he gave the place settings one more critical glance; he adjusted a fork's position before he was satisfied. "It's fish we've havin' so do you want white wine or red to go wi' it, laddie? Dinna worry about the posh dinin' rules just now."

Connor immediately looked to Uhura. "Uh, ma'am? You should pick." He reddened and admitted: "I honestly wouldn't know one grape from another beyond the stuff my mom liked." Scotty hummed softly as he stood at the sideboard, pouring a short Scotch and water for himself but listening with one ear. He stirred his clear amber drink with a finger, tasting it to make sure the mixture was correct.

This brought on a chuckle from the woman and she reached over to pat his arm fondly. "Red wines are always my favorite _and_ they're healthier to boot. Scotty, love, do we still have the Bogle Merlot? I picked up a case the last time we were home; it's from northern California," she added for Connor's benefit.

Scotty knelt and rummaged around in the cabinet, rising with a bottle cradled carefully in both hands. "Aye, we do; the last one. Red it is." He beamed at her, reaching for the corkscrew and indicating with his chin that they should come to the table.

Connor let Uhura step ahead of him as they rose together from the sofa. "I can see that I probably need to start writing these things down… forgot to bring my PADD though."

Commander Uhura ushered him to one side. "I'll send it to your comm station later. Birthday boy over here, please. I have to tell you that it's been a very long time since we celebrated anything like this, Connor. I think it's wonderful." Scotty held her chair back as she gracefully swept her skirt around her legs to be seated.

Connor smiled shyly as the three of them sat together, adjusting cushioned chairs and drawing white linen napkins into their laps. "Thank you. To tell you the truth, I usually forget my own birthday. It's more fun celebrating for somebody else." He shrugged, his ears turning slightly pink and then he took a sip from his water glass.

Uhura gestured with a slender hand to Scotty who was busy removing the cloches from the covered platters, catching the water droplets of condensation that fell into a small hand towel; the steam rose and savory aromas floated around them: poached salmon in dill and lemon butter, oven-roasted root vegetables (mainly turnips, fingerling potatoes and carrots) and rice pilaf with pine nuts. "March 3rd," she said and then she indicated herself. "December 28th."

"Got it. Thank you kindly, ma'am," said Connor with a wink.

Scotty cleared his throat and took up his glass, glancing at Uhura and Connor to do the same. "A toast first since this lovely Scottish salmon won't keep much longer. Happy happy birthday, laddie and many joyful returns of the day."

"Hear, hear. I promise I'll sing later if you like," Uhura added, touching her wineglass to the others' with a pair of muted clinks. "Cheers."

Connor blinked back tears, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat after he tasted his wine. His own dark eyes glistening warmly, Scotty leaned over to kiss the youngster on the forehead. "Let's eat, lad; I'm starvin'."

-/-/-/-/-/-

"How did the galley chief manage to get fresh turnips way out here? That did not taste like synthesizer food at all!" Connor asked wonderingly as the trio sat with small brandies that would go well with their dessert. Uhura was slicing the chocolate-raspberry torte and distributing layered wedges onto three small plates. She licked a bit of dark chocolate frosting from her fingertips.

"I've learned that it's best not to ask. Connie Bryant has more sources and connections than anyone we know," she replied, smiling as she passed him a plate and fork.

Scotty accepted his plate and set his brandy glass off to one side, on the lamp table that rested by his elbow. "Thank you, my dear. Aye, and they're all _legal_ sources as far as you hear, alright laddie?"

Connor quickly chewed and swallowed a bite of the cake. "Sure, got it."

"Mmm, she made this too, by the way," the engineer added, sighing in contentment. "Chief Bryant ran a bake shop in Monterrey before she joined Starfleet." He stabbed a fresh raspberry with his fork and popped it in his mouth, chewing with his eyes closed as he enjoyed the tart, fresh flavors. "I think she's part magician."

Commander Uhura had gotten about halfway through her dessert when she rose to her feet, exhaling rather impatiently as she set her plate on the coffee table. "I'm sorry gents, I can't stand to wait any longer." She stepped over to the nearby closet panel and activated the door. When she returned, she placed four packages—two large and two small, on the low table in front of Connor.

"What's this?" asked the surprised younger man, looking to his cousin with both eyebrows raised in a question. He quickly finished his brandy and set aside the empty snifter near his likewise empty cake plate. Scotty just smiled in reply, leaning to kiss the woman's cheek as she tucked herself into the crook of his right arm where it draped along the back of the loveseat.

"Why, it's birthday presents, what else would it be?" she replied, beaming delightedly at him. "Here, open the small ones first."

Connor chuckled, scooting forward in his seat to better reach the pile of parcels. "Okay, but I thought the dinner was a lovely present all by itself."

Uhura made a slight sound of polite disagreement and rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be silly. How often does our young man turn sixteen?"

Scotty laughed, shaking his head at her wholly uncharacteristic impatience. "And I've learned over the years that it is she who is to be obeyed, lad. Just go with it," he advised. Uhura swatted the engineer's chest with the back of her hand, giggling.

Connor grinned, sliding the lid from the box to reveal an antique pocket watch. "Aye-aye, chief; you do know best. Oh my, this is beautiful." He held up the delicate gold chain. "And it's engraved here… thank you."

The other small parcel was a tiny music and data recorder to replace the one he had recently broken—_shattered_, actually while working out with his MMA friends in Chief Borden's dojo. By the time Connor opened the two larger parcels he was plainly confused again. From one of the boxes, he held up a solid gray, long-sleeved tunic, looking down at it as he draped it across his chest to check the size.

"I don't know what this…" he began, stopping abruptly when he noticed the Starfleet insignia on the left shoulder and the subtle monochromatic braiding on the cuffs and collar. Connor's heart pounded in his chest. "Oh boy."

"I got in," he breathed as he realized that he was looking at a Starfleet Academy cadet dress uniform. "I really got in?"

Scotty nodded affirmatively, his eyes twinkling with pride as he scrambled to his feet. "Aye, you really did. We received the notice from the Commandant of Cadets a week or so ago. You are officially a cadet fourth class, laddie." He held out his hand.

"But don't tell your friends yet," Uhura added, no less proud of and for him. "Captain Kirk wants to make a special announcement to the crew in the next day or so."

Not trusting himself to speak very much, Connor stood and came over to shake the proffered hand and embrace his cousin, and then he bent to hug and kiss Uhura. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Both of you."

Commander Uhura smiled up at him, lifting the open box that held the uniform tunic and matching sharply creased slacks. "Just one more thing, honey—try it on for me?"

-/-/-/-/-/-

Shirt opened at the collar, Scotty sat in the decadently comfortable old-fashioned easy chair with one leg propped up on the matching ottoman while Uhura readied herself for bed. As was her long-time habit for a bedtime routine, soft instrumental jazz could be heard over the running water in the bathroom; occasionally her voice lifted in song, matching the tune. The woman also liked artificial candlelight, even when she was alone for the evening, finding it relaxing…familiar.

With solicitous reminders of an early morning the next day from both of them, Connor promised to forego his usual late night workout with Chief Borden's class so he could get a good night's sleep—he would be joining a group of engineering trainees for several classroom and practical sessions as _Enterprise_ made her way back to the Sol system. Commander Uhura had already chatted with the gamma-shift communications chief, letting him know of Connor's birthday.

Padding lightly into the bedroom, she chuckled fondly at the pensive expression on the engineer's face, staring off into the distance with the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly as if in amusement at whatever it was that he saw in his mind's eye, so far away. Of course, she also knew he could be running matter-antimatter intermix calculations in his head, just for the fun of it too.

"I'm sorry—wha?" he started, sitting up straighter when he realized that the woman was now standing at his elbow, smelling of subtly floral soap and moisturizers. She bent to kiss his brow, brushing back a lock of thick hair from his forehead. "Sorry, love. I was miles away just then." Uhura shook her head at his sheepish smile.

"Yes, I noticed," she replied with a grin. She gestured so that he lifted one of his arms, and then she settled herself gracefully across his lap; automatically his fingers brushed the soft fabric of her off-white satin nightgown where it fell at her knees. It was sexy without being over-powering… and left just enough to his imagination.

"Penny for your thoughts, then?" Uhura continued, resting one hand lovingly on his chest, her fingers tickling the gray hairs that peeked through the shirt.

Scotty sighed, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss the backs of her fingers. He paused again, and she turned to look in his eyes. He couldn't help but smile gratefully at the love he saw there.

"It's silly," he said shyly, haltingly. The woman made a soft sound of encouragement. "Do you ever regret—you know, not having children?"

Uhura nodded without hesitation, her eyes glistening in the low artificial candlelight. "Sometimes, yes, but not too much. I wondered if that would come up tonight, the way you were watching Connor as he's about to head off to the Academy." She paused at his slight grimace of embarrassment. "I honestly think the dinner and presents were a wonderful idea and I'm so happy you asked me to be a part of it; you know he would say something if he didn't really enjoy himself."

"Aye, I know. But what about you?"

"Me? What _more_ could a woman want in her life?" She smiled, stretching up to kiss his lips, brushing his mustache with her nose. "No, seriously. I love my life, I love what I do, and I love you and everything that comes with you." Now she giggled softly at his questioning expression.

"I knew full well what I was getting into… getting involved with a starship engineer," Uhura continued in a teasing tone. "Do you remember when we first met?"

Scotty shook his head. "I dinna recall the exact stardate or…"

She squeezed his chin. "Cheeky. That's not what I mean but it does go back a way. All of those long shifts on the Bridge, with you at the conn since the Captain and Spock and Dr. McCoy were away on some gallant mission planetside. I remember listening to you speak—keeping tabs on the helm and whatnot, and trying to keep my attention on my station; thankfully the communications board is so close to the middle chair." Uhura tilted her head and he just blushed.

She laughed, this time throwing her head back so that he got a splendid view of her kissable throat. "You and Connor, both! You have no idea what that lovely musical Scots does to some women, do you? You could read the dictionary to me if you wanted. Those beautiful rolling Rs are something else, Scotty."

"Or some _men_, lassie." Now his eyes twinkled at her. "Really? Truly?" She caught both of his cheeks in her hands, knowing that he had added a few extra rolled Rs.

"Aye, really truly," Uhura said, her tone mischievous as she mimicked his accent almost perfectly. "I'm a listener and a linguist, so of course some sounds are more attractive than others. I couldn't always decide if I wanted to watch your mouth or just close my eyes and listen."

"What did you mean that you 'knew what you were getting into'?"

"You were already madly, deeply in love with someone else, sugar," she answered simply. Her smile widened as realization dawned on him. "And my darling man, I don't mind one bit sharing you with a lady like _Enterprise_."

He closed his eyes and let his hand slowly wander from her arm, caressing her full breasts through the thin material of the nightgown, down to her abdomen and knees. When he opened his eyes again, Scotty looked at her with something like reverence. "Ah, well," he said softly. "She lets me handle her lovely curves…"

Uhura purred as he kissed her then, their tongues dancing around each other and he groaned a little at the faint taste of wine still on her lips. "She does, does she?" the woman whispered when they paused for breath.

Scotty tilted her head back, placing tiny nibbles on her neck and throat. "Oh aye, but always gently, gently for her. It's best if I take my time—pay attention, like." He chuckled into her shoulder, tickling the bare skin with his whiskers. She squirmed a bit on his lap, pressing down on his growing erection, involuntary moans falling from her lips in response to the way he made love to her with his voice and his hands. He reached into the front of her nightgown, relishing the warm heaviness of her bare breasts in his exploring palm.

"And I listen too," he said quietly, leaning back to watch her reactions as their mutual arousal grew. "So she'll tell me what she really, really needs."

Eyelids heavy with lust, she kissed him again and slowly got to her feet between his knees, caressing both thighs through his dark trousers. "Tuck me in, Scotty? You can remind me how good engineers are with their hands."

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.

**Chapter 13/?**

**Rookie engineer**

By the time Connor had gone for a morning run up on the primary hull with his dog—cousin Montgomery's namesake, and eaten breakfast, he was due to report to the engineering department for a tutorial practicum with one of the alpha shift's assistant chief engineers, Lt. Rachel Pirzahda. She had gathered a small group of four students with her, each one listening intently as she described how they would use the micro-scanner to detect and diagnose the burned out components hidden underneath the various access panels, some twenty meters climb above where they stood. It would be the first time they could apply what they learned in the classroom in safe but real-starship conditions.

"Be sure you are carrying your tool pouch and communications transdator with you for something like this," she said, indicating the earpiece as she positioned it securely. "Trust me— it's a big pain in the rear to keep hustling up and down that ladder if you forget something, and you'll never hear the end of it from the _boss_."

Connor Scott and his three classmates laughed, appreciating the way Lieutenant Pirzahda always added humor to her instructions and demonstrations. While Commander Scott attended the Captain's daily department head meetings at the start of alpha-shift, the half-Orion engineer took over occasional teaching duties in engineering. Her father, Dr. Bashir Pirzahda was a renowned engineer and instructor on Earth—and his beloved only daughter had followed in his footsteps. Her dual-heritage of Afghani and Orion gave her an exotic beauty that never lacked for admirers.

"Alright Connor," Pirzahda said, clapping her hands to get their attention. "You're up first this time. Not afraid of heights are you?" He grinned and adjusted the receiver in his right ear; buckling the tool pouch at his waist and over the navy blue coveralls he wore.

"No, ma'am, not heights. Just big spiders," he replied crisply, starting up the narrow metal ladder.

"If you find spiders on a starship, let me know—some of them are delicious," she quipped; unfortunately the joke went far over their heads since the students were unfamiliar with Orion cuisine. "When you've reached the compartment, you'll want to slide in headfirst and on your back. Not much room to turn around up there."

Connor nodded and kept climbing. Twenty meters was a long way to go and it was a benefit that he was in fairly good physical condition. In time, he arrived at the constricted maintenance tube and slid his body into position as Pirzahda had recommended. He touched a finger to the earpiece to activate it.

"I'm here, Lieutenant," he reported, brushing a bead of sweat from his eyebrow; regardless of effective climate control, Engineering was always rather warm. A soft grunt of effort escaped his lips as he removed the first panel that was just above his head was followed by: "Aye, yes, ready now."

Pirzahda indicated that his three classmates should also activate their transdators so they too could profit from listening in. "Go ahead, Mr. Scott." She heard the faint whirring of his electronic screwdriver as he removed the secondary, more secure panel. Her nearby board signaled his progress and she nodded to herself.

"No external signs of sparking or arcing, ma'am," Connor continued. "Och, there's one right in front in panel A-95. The poor wee thing is fried to bits." He removed the glassine component and installed a new one from his chest pocket.

"Scan again, please," she instructed, her golden-brown eyes moving rapidly over the teaching console. "Error at one-six-five, mark."

"Aye-aye, ma'am—one-six-five," he said calmly after a momentary pause while he worked. "How's that?"

The assistant chief pressed several buttons on her station, making sure the other three students could see and evaluate his progress too; they would soon be working through the very same exercise themselves. "Better. Okay, continue."

Pirzahda and the three rookie engineers heard the Scot humming quietly to himself as he made his way further back into the access tube, pulling his body along the smooth surface using handholds that were spaced at one-meter intervals; it was a hot and cramped workspace, and claustrophobia was not uncommonly a huge hindrance for newbie Starfleet engineering students or candidates when they started out. She grinned and shook her head, recognizing the tune as yet another of Commander Scott's favorites. Though she had only known Connor for a short time, even Pirzahda recognized some of the cousins' uncanny similarities.

A flashing bright red indicator on her console was quickly followed by a loud crack of electricity over the transdators, and two of the students looked at each other, somewhat horrified. The next thing they heard over their earpieces was a guttural stream of Scots Gaelic profanity along with the steady beeping of an electronic spanner in the background.

"Are you well up there, Mr. Scott?" Pirzahda inquired solicitously; her eyes twinkled with amusement and he heard the smile in her voice.

Another short burst of sharp Gaelic came over the comms, and was followed by a heavy sigh. "Oh yes, ma'am, I'm quite alright. Oof, just a wee bit toasty is all. Sonuva—aye, come at me again ya manky bugger and I'll be ready this time, ya sneaky little..."

"I sure wish I understood the rest of what he was saying; those have gotta be some pretty good swears," commented Ensign Thomas Sumter to the group in general, stepping out of the way and reddening as Commander Scott quietly and suddenly joined them. "Er, sorry Commander. Good morning, sir." The chief was a burly man but remarkably light on his feet.

"Aye it is, lad. Understood what he _who_ was saying, Mr. Sumter?" Scotty picked up a spare transdator from the instruction console and positioned it in his ear, activating it immediately. He carefully placed his PADD full of meeting notes on the nearest flat surface, his gaze sweeping instinctively over the plethora of lights and indicators.

Lieutenant Pirzahda jerked a thumb toward the ladder. "Connor's topside at the moment, sir, we're running a diagnostics practicum as a follow-up lesson this morning."

Scotty's eyebrow rose as he gave a soft grunt of astonishment, and then he tilted his head to listen for a minute or two while Connor threatened numerous parts of the maintenance shaft with semi-permanent albeit substantial damage.

Scotty _tsked_ quietly. "Well, I see I'll have to speak to the lad about his erm, _salty_ language, then." He rattled off several admonishing sentences in a rather impressive rumbling growl, none of which his current audience—save one, could interpret.

Another electrical crackle and flicker well above their heads was followed by a bark of a surprised laugh; a pair of the overhead lights dimmed for several seconds and the sharp, tangy smell of ozone floated around them.

"Bloody hell, ya big bastard… No! Not _you_ sir… aye-aye, Commander; I'll do my best. _Shit_! Och, sorry sir. There, that one's fixed now, Lieutenant Pirzahda ma'am." He continued to mutter at the panels that sparked just inches from his face, but as he knew better from his cousin's recent stories, he wasn't truly upset. Tight and rather shocking spaces like the one he was in now were part of an engineer's initiation to the career.

"Very well, carry on Mr. Scott," she acknowledged, smiling faintly in response to Scotty's knowing and conspiratorial wink.

The chief engineer removed the earpiece and then tucked it into a waist pocket of his black work vest so that the youngster wouldn't overhear him. "And just how many did you short up there today, Lieutenant?" Montgomery Scott patiently ignored the surprised looks from the remaining three students.

Rachel Pirzahda blinked her gorgeous eyelashes at him, all innocence. "Who _me_, Commander? Only a few…" _Dozen_, she mouthed silently, making sure only he noticed.

Scotty shook his head again, chuckling as he gathered up his PADD. "My conference room in twenty minutes, lass," he said over his shoulder as he turned to walk to his office. "And bring all four of those flummoxed goggle-eyed bairns with ye."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Connor and his classmates were watching attentively as Commander Scott ran through a short presentation; with his thick fingers tracing the illuminated lines on the screen, he was assisting Lieutenant Pirzahda in evaluating the first two students' performances. Connor and Sumter were still shiny-faced with perspiration, and Scott had a smear of black grease on one cheek. Both men left crumpled small red shop towels on the tabletop in front of them.

"Generally, ye want to go all the way to the back of the access crawlspace and work your way gradually forward. It's more systematic that way, especially when the Bridge is calling for ye to get a move on," Scotty advised. "There will be times when the Captain gives ye thirty seconds when he really means only about five and a half; trust my word on that one."

He held up a small bi-colored marking stylus, pulled from a narrow pocket on his left sleeve. "I really like these clever wee things—the quartermaster keeps 'em available in the ship's stationery supplies, believe it or not. Ye can always tick the ones ye see right away as you're entering the access tube, and get those last since they'll be the easiest. In fact…"

He was interrupted by the dulcet tones of Commander Uhura's voice over the ship's all-call communications link. "Ladies and gentlemen, please stand by for the Captain. Thank you." Throughout the ship, members of the crew paused in what they were doing to give their attention for an announcement. Kirk would only use the all-call for a matter of high importance.

"Good morning, this is the Captain. It will take us an estimated nine days at our present speed, but _Enterprise_ has been ordered to report to Luna for a minor refit and resupply. All qualifying crewmembers will have three weeks of shore leave available on a rotating schedule to allow for staffing levels during our brief stay at Luna and Earth. Check with your department supervisors for more detailed scheduling information and qualifying criteria."

He paused, knowing full well that happy men, women and other beings were exchanging looks and words of anticipation. The older officers and enlisted knew from years of experience with Jim Kirk as their CO that he was also saving the best part for last.

"That is, shore leave for all qualifying crewmembers _except_ Mr. Connor Scott—who will be reporting to the Starfleet Academy in San Francisco, just in time for his plebe induction week with the entering fourth class cohort," said Kirk. He paused again, letting the news sink in. "I hope you will join me in congratulating Mr. Scott. Get some rest ahead of time, Cadet; you are certainly going to need it. Kirk out."

Scotty grinned proudly at the young man as Lieutenant Pirzahda and the others enthusiastically congratulated Connor, those seated closest to him patting his arm and shoulder. Connor blushed at being the center of attention but he smiled his sincere thanks.

"And get a haircut as soon as you can, man, for all of those 'Reef Points' pop quizzes," Ensign Sumter put in with a laugh. He rubbed his own rapidly receding blonde hairline. "The upper classmen are gonna shave your head for you whether you like it or not!"

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Way to go, Red," called Ivan Blasic from across the dojo as he entered, barefooted. "Now you can finally get a real job, huh? About time too!"

Connor grinned as he finished applying and fastening the left hand wrap, adjusting the thin fabric where it began with a loop around his thumb. "Aye, I hope so. Cheers, mate." He set his padded gloves to one side on the bench and shook the proffered hand, looking way up to the much taller man's face.

"So whatya think it's gonna be for you… security? Command?" The massive Security ensign stretched his arms into a nearly seven-foot wingspan, loosening upper body muscles better suited to a bull running at Pamplona in old Spain. He sighed in relief as his neck cracked faintly and he smacked his own wrapped fists against each other.

Connor made a face at the very thought of sitting in the center chair on the Bridge. "Ugh, I hope not. My family, and my cousin Monty especially, would likely shoot me out of an escape hatch bollocks naked if I didnae at least _think_ about engineering."

Blasic hammer-chopped him lightly on the top of the head. "Yeah, I figured. Just kidding man. You're too small and slow for my division anyway. You'll be great down there with the tweaks and squints."

Connor laughed at the somewhat derogatory nicknames for starship technicians and got to his feet, shoving his boots, socks and wrist chronometer into the small locker underneath the bench; he gathered up his gloves, padded headgear and tucked a clear rubber bite guard into one cargo pocket of his workout pants, and headed over to his usual spot on the mats for warm-ups. Several other similarly attired students were arriving, in pairs and threes as it neared 2015 hours. He graciously accepted congratulations from his classmates, who spoke to him or shook hands as they too made their way to the center of the room.

A moment later, Chief Dan Borden stepped into the dojo, nodding toward the assembling group. He was wearing his usual modified _gi_ and was tying his black belt in a neat double square knot as he strode in; without looking, he aligned it precisely with the mid-vertical axis of his body. "Alright, you hooligans watch your lines and make sure you have plenty of room. Mr. Scott—happy birthday, congratulations, and for God's sake, don't screw up at the Academy and embarrass us all. I for one would never forgive you. Miss Gondieve, warm 'em up."

The students laughed in appreciation for the sensei's typical brusque manner in getting the martial arts class started on time and he clapped Scott's back as he passed him where the youngster stood in the third row. Connor grinned in reply to the surreptitious wink from Borden, keeping his attention to the front of the mirrored dojo.

"Aye-aye, chief," responded a slender young woman from the Medical department as she stepped to the head of the group, bowing to them with her right fist tucked into her left palm. Almost as one, the rest of the class returned the formal bow of respect and began running in place at her command.

"Dammit, this is no time to be sloppy. Get those knees all the way to your chest!" hollered Borden thirty seconds later, shaking his head in mock disgust as he prowled the lines. Most of the students beamed as they complied with the instructions, putting more energy into the exercise, and knew that the chief was in an unusually good mood; he yelled more when he was happy. This also meant that their sparring later would be an interesting lesson.

For the next half hour or so, Isabella (Izzy) Gondieve led her fellow classmates through their warm-up routine of stretches for the arms, legs and back as well as rapid calisthenics to get their heart rates up as they prepared for the sparring segment of the evening martial arts class. Most of the students in Chief Borden's sections were from Security, but a few such as Gondieve and Connor Scott, were from the Medical or Engineering divisions.

By the time Izzy called for a water break, all thirteen of the men and women were perspiring and ready to practice their hand-to-hand close-combat techniques. Sensei Borden walked along the three lines of students, giving comments or adjustments here and there when it was needed. He stopped in front of Connor as the young man toweled off his face and head—his hair was nearly black instead of red, the sweat-soaked locks sticking up here and there.

"Let's try something special this evening, a one time deal as it were," began Borden, looking around at the rest of the class. "Mr. Scott?"

"Sir!" Connor straightened to attention when the sensei back-knuckled him lightly on the chest; the redheaded Scot tended to "sir" or "ma'am" everyone, even after repeated reminders to the contrary.

"Pick your opponent. I'll line up the rest."

Connor immediately pointed to Blasic and they both had big grins of anticipation on their faces. "Ivan, I've got to try at least once before I get to the Academy, mate." The huge Austrian chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled on his padded black and orange gloves.

"Last chance, eh? Alright man, don't say I didn't warn you," replied Ivan, his arm and shoulder muscles bulging under his sweaty t-shirt.

Borden's eyebrows went up but he didn't comment. "Very well, Blasic and Scott, get your gear on." There was a low hum of conversation and more than a few chuckles; Connor was easily half the size of Blasic who outweighed him by more than fifty or sixty kilos.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Over here if you please," Doctor Chapel directed, helping Ivan Blasic sit up on the medibed; his arms were supported by Dan Borden on one side and Connor Scott on the other. "Good thing you called ahead, Chief Borden." She activated the panels above his head and glanced over to where another medic, Jamie Alexander, now got Connor comfortably seated for triage; the Scot kept an ice-free cold pack pressed to his left eye. Chapel could see a bit of blood on his cheek and forehead, probably from a cut above his eyebrow but that was his only apparent injury.

"_Good thing_ is right, doctor," replied Borden as he unwound Blasic's left hand wrap, tossing the bloody cloth into the medical waste chute. "Wouldn't want to scare the over-night on call with this mess."

She nodded, turning her attention back to the Security ensign's right knee. When she removed the inflatable brace that Borden had applied for the short walk down to Sickbay, severe swelling was visible, even under his karate pants. Chapel ran a scanner up and down the injured limb.

"What do you think, doc?" asked Blasic, his voice rather nasally due to a rapidly swelling broken nose. "I didn't hear it pop or anything—I was back-pedaling and _whammo_."

"I think you may be done sparring for the night, Ensign," Chapel told him, not unkindly, accepting a set of scissors from Borden who was now acting as her assistant attending-medic, so that she could cut off the pants leg in order to better examine the wounded knee. "And I should see the other guy, right?"

Borden flicked his eyes toward Connor, catching Dr. Chapel's attention with a subtle nod. "I am the other guy, ma'am," admitted Scott. He turned back to the medic at his side, touching his right index finger to his nose as she instructed. The medic flashed a small light in his eyes, checking the way his pupils dilated in response to the brightness.

"You're just full of surprises today, aren't you Cadet Scott?" Chapel remarked drily.

"Yes ma'am. Seems so anyway."

"Minor laceration to the left brow ridge, doctor," reported Alexander, handing Connor a swab of antiseptic that he applied to his eyebrow himself; she immediately activated a dermal protoplaser to close up the small cut. "Gross neurological exams are all normal."

"Thank you, Jamie," Chapel replied. She waved a small scanner around Blasic's knee, frowning slightly at the readout. "And for you, Mr. Blasic… nothing is broken, thankfully, but you have severely strained both the ACL and MCL; you will be staying off of that knee for at least a day or two. I'll get you something in just a minute to make you a tad more comfortable."

Ivan chuckled softly, wincing when she carefully manipulated his leg and knee joint but otherwise he made no complaint. He watched the doctor's thorough examination of his knee with the detached air of a man who had been injured in a fight before, and he unwrapped the cloth on his right hand to discard it (both men had left their padded gloves and other sparring gear in Borden's dojo).

"Guess I shoulda zigged when you zagged, partner. Just when the fight was getting' good too." He lay back on the medibed as Chapel directed him; she prepared and administered a hypospray of anti-inflammatory and analgesic drugs, the device hissing loudly as she pressed it to his muscular neck. She also handed him a clean cloth to dab at his nose.

Jamie Alexander stepped to the adjacent computer station to update his medical file and Connor hopped lightly to his feet, depositing the used swab in a nearby waste container. When he turned to head for the door, Chief Borden grabbed his arm.

"Whoa, hold on. Where do you think you're going, Mr. Scott?" Borden eyed him sternly and with more than a little amusement.

The young man paused, somewhat startled. "Back to class, Chief. I'm good." He looked to Dr. Chapel for support.

Christine Chapel shook her head. "Afraid not, Connor. You both took blows to the head during your sparring session. Dr. McCoy has mandated head-CT exams for all such injuries on board… Chief Medical officer's orders supersede everything else."

"Oh." Scott's shoulders sagged a bit as he obediently returned to the medibed and boosted himself back onto the padded bench. "Yes, ma'am." He sighed, disappointed.

"Relax kid," Chief Borden told him, grinning. "You'll be back sparring tomorrow."

Jamie Alexander came back carrying two chilled pouches containing some liquid. "Here you go, guys, drinks are on me tonight… oral rehydration solution. Dr. Chapel, Kimo Penn is on his way with the portable CT."

Chapel made several entries on her PADD and smiled in reply. "Thank you. Alright Chief, I'll let you know what the head scans show."

Dan Borden nodded, stepping between the two medi-beds to give both young men rather stern but kind looks. "Thanks, doc. Don't give the medics any trouble tonight, or I really will pound your empty heads. Got it?"

Blasic chuckled into a fist and Scott hurriedly finished the drink pouch. "Aye-aye, chief. See you tomorrow night, sir," Connor assured him, laying back and getting comfortable to wait for the medical technician.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, LM/CC, others as needed. Strong sexuality in this chapter.

**Chapter 14/?**

**First Shore Leave**

Dr. McCoy made his way into a dimly lit Sickbay early the next morning, a couple of hours before he was due for the start of alpha shift, and raised an eloquent eyebrow in surprise when he spotted Dr. Christine Chapel standing between two medibeds as she updated the pair of overnight patients' charts. He immediately logged in at a nearby computer station, recognizing the red head of a soundly slumbering Connor Scott on one of the beds. She looked up from the chart PADD and sleepily smiled a welcome.

"Hi, you," she whispered fondly. A long blonde lock of her hair had fallen away from the neat bundle caught up in an elastic band at the nape of her neck and she tucked it behind her ear. It was all McCoy could do to not reach out to stroke the woman's milky soft cheek where her fingers had been, and follow the skin down to…

Bones smiled, mentally filing away the fantasy for later. "Hi yourself. Looks like you had an interesting and busy night, Dr. Chapel ma'am," he said quietly. McCoy stepped closer to her back, his body tingling a bit in her presence, ostensibly so that he could read the PADD screen over her shoulder. He breathed in the subtle scent of her hair and the lavender shower gel she habitually used; he was close but not too close, at least keeping most of the _professional_ appearances toward his partner, the short-term gamma shift's on-call physician.

Chapel made a soft murmur of agreement, leaning back slightly into the warmth of his chest. "Not that bad, Len; only about a dozen or so walk-ins, as usual, but I did keep two patients overnight for observation. Connor and Ensign Blasic were both injured during their sparring in Chief Borden's class last night." She glanced at the sleeping young men on either side of them; Blasic's right leg was propped up on an extra pillow under his light blanket, an inflatable brace giving added support for the bruised knee.

"_Their_? These two fellas were sparring each other?" McCoy's voice rose well above a whisper and his eyebrows threatened to beat a path into his hairline. He snorted in disbelief at the thought. "Unreal. Alright Chris, bring me up to speed then."

"Cadet Connor Scott, minor laceration above the left eyebrow was treated—no complications and only a small residual bruising remains. Ensign Ivan Blasic, severe strain of both ACL and MCL of the right knee; imaging showed no tears or breaks," Chapel reported. "I recommended a support brace and light duty for two days; he's on 400 milligrams of T-3 right now, Q8 to Q12, and has been sleeping comfortably. Head CTs on both of these young men were completely normal—Blasic took a heavy punch to the nose. Connor said he took but a glancing blow to his left eye and Chief Borden's video confirms this."

"Damn, he sure did," McCoy said, bending to look closer at Ivan's nose and giving a soft grunt of sympathy. He pressed several indicators on the medibed scanners, his gaze drawn to the neurological readings. "Alrighty then, looks good. I'm surprised Dan paired them up but he must have had a good reason to do so."

"Borden said it was a birthday present for Cadet Scott, to spar against anybody he wanted. Connor mentioned getting one last shot against Ivan before he starts at the Academy." Chapel chuckled lightly, rising on her tiptoes to kiss him on the lips now that the official reporting part was completed. "Mmm, I missed you. We're on for shore leave late lunch tomorrow with Nyota and Scotty, right? Jim is planning a quick stop at Starbase 15."

"Yes, ma'am," McCoy replied, his blue eyes twinkling in anticipation of some off-duty and/or off-ship time with her, preferably both of them nude. "I got the same memo." With that, he kissed her on the nose, pulling her into his arms for a proper good morning hug and when he turned, Bones noticed that Connor had opened his eyes and was smiling angelically as they embraced.

Christine Chapel blushed, taking a step back as she straightened her white short-sleeved medical jacket but McCoy just rolled his eyes at the young man. "I thought I already kicked you outta my Sickbay ages ago," he said with a teasing growl.

"Och, yes sir, you did. Good morning, doctors," said Connor, sitting up as he yawned and stretched his arms—catlike in his obvious enjoyment of it and the muscles of his bare chest flexed under his pale, freckled skin. He rubbed one hand across his face, and then drew his fingers back and forth through his mussed up hair. At some point during the night, he had removed the hospital t-shirt and wore only the baggy pajama pants.

McCoy stifled a chuckle, recalling that the young man always "slept hot" and then tossed him a clean shirt from the nearby linen cabinet. "Morning yourself, Red. You're medically cleared to resume duty, Cadet. Plenty of time to make it to your shift down in Engineering in case you're wondering. Commander Scott doesn't cotton to slug-a-beds."

Connor grinned in reply, shrugging into the t-shirt as he hopped lightly to his feet. "Aye-aye, sir." He turned to Dr. Chapel. "Is Ivan gonna be okay? His knee was several shades of purple last night."

"He'll be fine," she assured him. "And in no time, too. Don't you worry, Connor."

"Good, thank you, ma'am." As the youngster stepped into the center of the ward, McCoy cleared his throat to get his attention, pointing an admonishing finger at the boy's feet.

"Son, _where_ in the world are your damn shoes?" He shook his head as he was recalling the weeks during Connor Scott's long-term recovery stay in Sickbay when he habitually went around barefooted, much to the consternation of the medical staff who feared slip hazards, puncture wounds or worse.

Connor snickered, looking down in surprise. "Um, I'm not sure." He paused, shrugging as he tried to think of where his boots might be. "Oh, right… down at Chief Borden's. I'll get them later."

The two doctors laughed, shaking their heads as he shrugged again, sheepishly this time, and then gave them a friendly wave on his way out into the corridor.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"So where is that young 'un? I thought we said 1330 for lunch," McCoy commented wryly, sipping from his glass and checking the chronometer readout on his wrist. He flinched suddenly at a tight grip on his upper thigh, raising an eyebrow at Dr. Christine Chapel who was seated to his right. "Ah-ow! What was that for? I'm hungry and the boy is late." Chapel pressed another hunk of freshly baked baguette into his hand, sliding the butter dish over to his place at the table.

"Hush dear, you're not that hungry," she said with a sweet smile. "And as you have told patients in Sickbay and elsewhere for _years_, a little suffering is good for the soul."

"My soul is just fine and dandy, thank you very much, missy."

Scotty and Uhura shared a glance and chuckled quietly at their table companions. From their perspective, it looked like they were seated across from an old married couple. In fact, the four of them "double-dated" whenever they had the rare opportunity for shore leave together. As _Enterprise_ neared the Earth-system, she paused for a brief twenty-four hour period to transfer personnel and materials at Starbase 15. Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock had volunteered to take the first 8-hour watch while alpha shift senior officers took advantage of the free time.

"He'll be here, Leonard," Scotty said reasonably. "I think the lad said he was going to try for a bit of school shopping before meeting us for lunch anyway."

"Really? Better get himself some shoes, too. Good for him," McCoy finished his drink and signaled to the server for another, and then turned a mock-glare to Christine. "You've got a grip like a Denebian sand-devil there, young lady. I think you left a mark on my tender nether regions."

Chapel grinned deviously at him over the rim of her wineglass. "Then I'll have to kiss it and make it better later this afternoon, won't I?"

Uhura put her hand on Scotty's where he rested it on the tabletop, lacing her fingers in his and gave him a light, affectionate squeeze. "Still playing _doctor_ after all this time, doctors?" she asked innocently enough, although the way she winked at McCoy was rather pornographic. Scott, Uhura and Chapel all chortled at the ship's surgeon's expense but he didn't seem too terribly bothered.

McCoy merely raised a sarcastic eyebrow, nodding and toasting the Communications officer with the glass that appeared at his elbow. Their server, a raven-haired young woman turned with a gasp of surprise as Connor hurried into the café, his hands both full with bags and parcels from a variety of vendors that nearly knocked her aside. In his rush, he'd forgotten what Scotty had told him about having things delivered from the shops to the _Enterprise_. It required only a nominal fee for the convenience but in his defense, Connor had never even been shopping before.

He hastily dropped all of the bags to the floor right beside the empty seat that awaited him and caught her easily in his strong arms. "My apologies ma'am. I really need to watch where I'm going."

The young woman, her name badge read "Nicole F. (from Aix, EU)" reddened as he steadied her on her feet; she stepped back—more than a little bit flustered, to smooth down her apron and she automatically responded in French. "Er, pardon. May I take your order then? Your family has already placed theirs."

Connor smiled as he sat and scooted the chair in toward the table, glancing briefly over at the daily specials board that hung on the wall chalkboard nearby. "Becasse lager please, and the soup and sandwich of the day," he replied in the same flawless French. "There, that was easy," Connor finished, switching to Standard English in the next breath. His smile widened at her look of pleased surprise that was followed by a smoldering look of not-so-subtle attraction. Nicole grinned down at her hand-held electronic menu, nodding as she turned to go to the kitchen's pass-thru window.

McCoy made a noise of disbelief. "_Now_ do you see what I mean, Scotty? That right there is what I've been talking about since day one," he said, jabbing the table with his finger in emphasis. "It's the cute-as-all-get-out accent, clean-cut good looks and perfect multi-lingual pronunciation that's just not fair to the rest of us. I tell you what, Red. I'm gonna hit you with an ugly stick one of these days…"

Scotty chuckled, sipping from his drink as he bobbed his head in agreement with the doctor. Uhura laughed lightly when Connor leaned over to kiss her on the cheek and then he leaned to the other side to kiss Chapel's cheek in greeting as well.

"A thousand million apologies, madams and messieurs, I was held up at the barbershop." He reached up to brush his fingertips across his very-very short new haircut by way of explanation. "It got crowded quickly over there."

"Aye, good idea," Scotty commented. "Might as well get used to it, laddie. And it is cold in San Francisco, all year 'round." Dr. Chapel concurred at once.

"Oh yes, stock up on hats and fleece hoodies for sure," she said, involuntarily shivering at the memory. "I thought I was going to freeze to death when I got to northern California the first time, _and_ it was the middle of the summer when I arrived!"

"Connor, did you find the travel office I suggested?" asked Uhura, sitting back comfortably and resting her hand around Scotty's upper arm.

Connor smiled his thanks at Nicole who placed a frosty bottle and mug at his place. Scotty and McCoy both surreptitiously watched her as she stepped away—she seemed to be extra attentive to the young Scot in just a few short minutes after having met him; Bones rolled his eyes and flinched again as Chapel squeezed his knee under the table, and then she rested her warm hand in his lap. He resisted the temptation to squirm to ease the rising blood pressure in his groin, knowing full well that she would tease him about it later.

"I sure did. They can book an overnight in Aberdeen for me but I think I'll miss the Edinburgh Festival this year," he replied, tasting the light raspberry-flavored lager straight from the bottle, smacking his lips in enjoyment. "Oh, that's really good. Aye, the Festival runs at the same time as my 'Hell week', pardon my French, but I think Uncle Ned can meet me for Hogmanay over my break." Scotty had already contacted his father with a few details and planned to introduce the man to his nephew as soon as he could.

Uhura and the engineer shared a tender look; one of their best date weekends in their early years together had been a New Year's Eve celebration in Edinburgh's Old Town. Assisted by one of her co-workers to help carry platters of food to the table, Nicole brought the meals for the party of five. Connor spoke quietly to her once more, in French, and she responded with a delighted smile as she touched his shoulder. He was asking her to put the entire bill for the lunch on his account—he had been late arriving, after all.

"Did you get her comm-link number? I think she really likes you," McCoy inquired after she had left them to enjoy their meal, his tone teasing. He cut a small piece of the quiche with his fork.

Connor blushed but made no attempt to correct the doctor's assumption. "Aye, of course." He took a big bite from his sandwich and shrugged modestly as he chewed.

"Well, dinna be late getting back to the ship tonight," Scotty said resignedly, thinking his young cousin had just made a date. He was rewarded with a look of warm fondness from Uhura (who of course had understood every word of the brief conversation between Connor and their attractive server). "The Captain won't wait for our scheduled departure at 0630 tomorrow."

-/-/-/-/-/-

_Later that same day and back aboard the Enterprise…_

Scotty literally growled in anticipation as Uhura pushed him down on his back upon the bed in his quarters, landing gracefully beside him as she ran her fingernails up and down his bare chest. She had already removed her boots, tossing them carelessly aside and then she turned her attention to undoing the buttons on his trousers. He chuckled into her mouth as he caught up both of her hands and held them in one of his, pinned gently to the padded headboard as he rolled sideways toward her.

"My my, lassie," he whispered as he kissed her neck and earlobe. "You weren't kidding." His left hand explored under her partially unzipped blouse and the woman writhed as his muscular thigh moved up between her legs, spreading them further apart.

"I would never kid about sex," she whispered back, her voice husky as she looked up at him, propped on his right elbow as his wandering hand caressed first one breast and then the other. Uhura groaned and tried to arch her back as he gently tweaked a nipple with his fingers. "Oh! You know that, love."

"M-hm, yes I do. I certainly do," Scotty replied, releasing her hands and sliding down between her legs so that his mouth was even with her dusky, full breasts. He placed soft, not-quite-ticklish kisses all over her chest, all the while making low rumbling sounds of pleasure in the back of his throat. He chuckled again when he reached the top of the partway-lowered zipper on her blouse. "This bloody thing's in ma way again," he told her as he took the tab in his teeth and pulled it down until it opened completely.

Now that she was bare from the waist up, her gooseflesh rising since he kept his cabin rather cooler than she did, his gaze was warm as he looked back up to her face. She languidly moved one arm, reaching to draw her fingers through his hair and smiling when he turned his attentive kisses back to her belly button. Uhura loved to watch him as he explored her body, relishing the touch of his lips and hands on her sensitive skin. As always, she marveled at the contrast of his pale arm where it moved over her flesh. She quivered in delicious anticipation as he tickled her with his bushy mustache.

Scotty rose up on his knees, helping her wriggle out of her blouse and skirt. She could see that the front of his trousers tented and he grinned when he noticed where she was looking. His grin widened when he discovered that she was entirely naked underneath the skirt and silk chemise.

"And where have your knickers gotten to, Uhura-darlin'?"

She shrugged, raising one flirty eyebrow at him. "Didn't wear any today."

"Really? Well, I wonder what that's about," he commented, shimmying out of his trousers and pushing them to the floor. They both laughed like much younger lovers as he moved to cover her with his body, hungrily kissing her mouth as her hands roamed up and down his back.

Scotty kissed her for a long time like this, propping himself up on his forearms as his tongue explored her mouth, tasting her lips as she opened herself to him. When they paused at last for breath, he pushed up to his hands and knees to look at her once again. Nyota smiled tenderly as she took his face in both of her hands.

"I do love you," she said. "So very, very much."

"Never doubt that I love you too, darlin' lassie." He leaned down to kiss her on the mouth and then he trailed kisses all the way down her chest and belly, stopping when he reached the triangle of thick, curly black hair. He grinned up at her as he bent to kiss her there too.

Not long after, he had her squirming and crying out as his tongue tasted and licked at center of her pleasure. Her thigh muscles trembled where he stroked her skin, his fingers keeping time with the rhythm of his tongue. As she cried out breathlessly from the first of many climaxes, her hands caressed the sides of his head before she spread her arms wide in surrender, giving herself completely to the man she loved like no other.

His talented lips, tongue and fingers brought her to her peak several times before he finally rose up on his knees, shuffling around a bit to get out of his boxer shorts. His palms caressed her knees on either side of his body, rubbing the smooth skin of her legs as he watched her catch her breath. Uhura's face and chest were glistening with a light sheen of sweat, and her eyes shone with a few unshed tears.

"Alright, love?" He shifted his hips as he entered her warm, wet core, slipping easily inside of her. One hand brushed back her hair as he kissed her forehead.

Uhura nodded, arching her back slightly as she adjusted to his fullness. "Wonderful. Completely and utterly wonderful…" Her hands came again to hold his face just inches from hers. "You are completely and utterly wonderful to me."

Scotty kissed her eyebrows, tasting the sweet-saltiness of her skin and he shifted slightly to kiss her smiling mouth. "Mmm, I could say the same things about you." He groaned as he deepened the kiss, starting to move inside of her, thrusting gently in and out. Her warmth and softness were intoxicating and he couldn't help whispering honeyed words of devotion in her ear as he made love to her and she to him.

"Oh Scotty," she breathed one final coherent thought, wrapping both arms and legs around him and holding on tight as they moved together in their favorite rhythm.

-/-/-/-/-/-

James Kirk tumbled into his bunk well after 2200 hours. He had spent a pleasant evening of shore leave and although he had taken ethanol suppressors for the short R&R time on Starbase 15, he had consumed enough to negate a good portion of it. The Captain was enjoyably exhausted, and looked forward to a nearly full night's rest to recover. Duty would resume soon enough. He had just started to drift off to sleep when the communications panel at the head of his bed buzzed. "Kirk here," he said, mildly irritated.

"Sorry to wake you, sir," came the voice of a gamma-shift communications ensign. "This is Claris. I have a priority transmission from Starbase 15 security. It seems that a bar fight—three separate incidents actually, got out of hand, and a number of our crewmen are in the brig there."

"What else is new, Ms. Claris," replied the Captain with a deep sigh of exasperation, although not really surprised at the news. "Let them sleep it off and have them sent home first thing in the morning. It'll be a good lesson."

Kirk heard the smile in her voice. "Aye-aye, sir. I will notify the security officers in command at once. Good night, Captain." Ensign Claris was obviously not a "green" cadet and she knew that sleeping in a security brig _anywhere_ was not at all comfortable.

By 0600 hours, Jim Kirk had finished his first morning coffee with McCoy and Scott, who both looked rather chipper and exceedingly pleased with themselves. He himself felt well rested and was confident in his crew, readying for the on-time departure as they resumed their journey back to Luna and Earth.

"I may be sending you some hot-heads for patching up later, Bones. Got a call about some bar fights late last night, but I don't know how many of them were ours."

McCoy snorted, and poured another coffee. "I'm not surprised. They were probably just letting off some steam," he drawled. "Besides, that's healthy." He didn't feel the need to mention that his own personal version of "letting off steam" had been spent with Christine Chapel in her very comfortable bedroom.

Scotty sighed, a little wistfully. "I have to admit though, sometimes I do miss my brawlin' days. Youth is certainly wasted on the young." The three men had a laugh at this reminiscing. They all had had their fair share of shore leave fights.

"Well, I'll be waiting down in Sickbay, whenever you get a hold of our folks, Jim," Bones said, rising with his coffee mug in hand. "You probably let 'em sleep it off in the brig, didn't you?" He winked, heading out of the officers' mess. Kirk just shrugged, and Scotty raised a mug in salute.

-/-/-/-/-/-

In the main transporter room, Kirk entered just as the on-duty transporter chief clicked off his communications panel. "Good morning, Captain. Starbase 15 security is ready to remand our crewmen to your custody," he reported, his cheeks dimpling with a faint smile. This was a regular routine, practically an initiation for new Starfleet crews. Kirk nodded acknowledgement, and returned the knowing grin as he straightened his uniform tunic.

"Very well, Mr. Morse," said the Captain, squaring his shoulders and setting his stance. "Put on a serious face now, and let's beam them up."

The first six crewmen were a mixture of young—and not-so young—Engineering and Security personnel, all in various states of disarray and minor injuries. They moved from the transporter pad off to one side, and looked contrite under his stern gaze. Five more times the platform filled with Enterprise crewmen and women. He gave them his best senior-officer lecturing look.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I do not have to tell you that I am altogether disappointed in your behavior. You will check in at once and in person with your area supervisors, and then confine yourselves to quarters. Those who require medical attention will get to Sickbay. At 0600 hours tomorrow, you will report to the main Rec deck for disciplinary action." He paused for effect, letting them sweat a little before he barked: "Dismissed!"

The group moved to leave the transporter room as quickly, quietly and as respectfully as possible, lest he change his mind about dispensing punishment on the following day. It was then that the Captain noticed—to his surprise and great disapproval that Cadet Fourth-class Connor Scott was among them.

"Mister Scott?! You're with me."

Some of the others gave Connor over-the-shoulder sympathetic glances as they left. _Kid, you've had it!_ _From the old man himself…_

Kirk mashed a thumb on the communications panel on the transporter control station, and Connor stood at silent attention nearby. "Kirk to Engineering."

"Engineering. Scott here, sir," was the prompt reply.

"Scotty, would you meet me in Sickbay? It seems that your cousin was also involved in the excitement down on Starbase 15 last night." He watched as Connor grimaced a bit at the sound of what had to be a Gaelic oath that came through the open channel but otherwise the young man remained silent. He stared at a point just past Kirk's left ear.

"Aye-aye, Captain. I'll be right there," responded the chief engineer. His displeasure was plain even over the communicator link.

Jim looked the crewman over critically, with an eye well trained to evaluate brawl-type injuries. He had a beauty of a shiner, and a deep—but clean, cut over his left eye. The shirt was heavily bloodstained, slashed open from the shoulder downward and the few overnight hours in the Starbase brig had left the youngster looking somewhat bedraggled but otherwise fine. "Shall we get you to McCoy's Sickbay, mister?" he asked, gesturing toward the corridor with an open hand.

Connor met his gaze, nodding grimly as he stepped in front of the Captain. "Aye-aye, sir. Thank you."

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

"**Din Lugh"**

A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").

A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.

Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.

Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.

Pairings: MS/NU, LM/CC, others as needed.

**Chapter 15/?**

**Fit for punishment**

Bones looked up from the hand-held scanner as he treated a young ensign for a badly bruised shin and thigh just as he observed Jim and Connor coming into the bustling main ward, and his eyes widened a bit in surprise. He also watched the mixed glances from the somewhat sheepish crewmembers that reported to Sickbay for treatment of various minor injuries: concern for the friendly young Scot, and overwhelming relief that it was not they whom the visibly perturbed Captain had in tow. McCoy quietly asked a passing medical assistant to finish up with Ensign McBride, and went over to activate the diagnostic panel Connor had just seated himself under. The young man couldn't help but notice a fuming Commander Scott waiting in the open doorway to the Chief Surgeon's office, joined shortly thereafter by Captain Kirk. Neither officer looked very pleased with him at the moment. Leonard McCoy saw that Scotty was silently working himself up to a slow boil and he shook his head in genuine sympathy.

"Well son, I do believe you win first prize on your first try for this shore leave set of donnybrooks," McCoy drawled softly, and as somberly as he could manage while passing the medical scanner over his patient's chest, neck and head. It was not easy for him to be so serious at that moment since he wanted to chuckle out loud at the young man's initiation to Starfleet crew life; the doctor was very relieved that Connor's injuries—like the rest, were all relatively minor. "Hmm, nothing's broken at least. How is your right shoulder holding up?"

"I think it's okay, sir."

Connor was uncharacteristically reserved and subdued, and he spoke only to answer the doctor's direct questions. That didn't stop him from grimacing at the briskly antiseptic-sting on his chest and over his eye when McCoy applied the topical medication. Bones noted that the shallow chest wound had been inflicted with a knife, or other sharp object, and he deftly closed both lacerations with the epidermal protoplaser. Lastly, he helped Connor wrap an ice-free cold pack and elastic bandage around a couple of bruised ribs and a clean black t-shirt went over that. The ruined shirt, sliced and blood stained, had been discarded in a medical waste receptacle.

McCoy chucked him gently on his upper arm after he entered several brief lines on Connor's chart with the nearby PADD. "That's it from the clinical end, Red. Any pain we didn't get to?" He prepared and administered a dual-injection to prevent further swelling and infection. Connor's injuries really had been the worst of the lot but he barely moved when the hypospray device hissed against his neck. He sighed resignedly before he replied.

"No, sir. Not yet anyway," answered Connor, cutting his gaze toward the CMO's open door. Bones nodded gravely, his blue eyes reflecting his concern for the youngster and then he escorted him to his conference with the Captain and Commander Scott.

Scotty met the pair one stride's length into the office, getting right in Connor's face, and the door panel _whisk_ed closed behind them as McCoy and the cadet stepped through.

"Lad, ye had better have a bloody brilliant explanation for this mess ye've gotten into," he grumbled angrily, struggling to keep his voice from rising into a shout. "I'll see to it that yah never go on shore leave again if this becomes a regular habit." Not only was Montgomery Scott Connor's supervisor, but he was the young man's legal guardian as well and he was understandably worried about the bruises, the blood and the cuts he had seen on him earlier. Connor kept his tone as level and as respectful as he could, turning slightly to allow the doctor to squeeze by him.

"Aye-aye, Commander. I believe I do have a satisfactory explanation for my actions, sir."

Jim cleared his throat loudly to get their attention. "Have a seat, Mr. Scott. Let's hear all of it," Kirk ordered from his place on the long sofa. He crossed one leg over the other and smiled faintly when both men immediately sat at his command, Scotty on his right, and Connor in the lone chair that had been placed front and center. Moving at a leisurely pace, McCoy took the much more comfortable chair behind his desk. He found a coffee mug on his computer station, picked it up only to discover that it was empty and he replaced it on the desktop.

"Yes, Captain," Connor began with a deep breath, sitting up straight and tall in his seat, his posture somewhat aided by the rib support brace as he rested both hands atop his thighs. He barely stopped himself from brushing sweaty palms against his slacks. "I had lunch with Commander Uhura, Commander Scott and Doctors Chapel and McCoy yesterday afternoon. They went shopping afterwards before returning to the ship, I think, and then I met some of the lads from my shift for a pub crawl. We stayed in the _Global_ bar for several hours, drinking rounds and shooting pool—I had one beer with lunch and one more later; it was water for me for the rest of the time. At some point in the evening, I believe it was 21- or 2200 hours, sir, a group of the merchant marine fellows who were also present in the bar wanted to stir up some trouble with us."

Kirk nodded, and indicated that he should continue. "I see. And what kind of trouble do you mean exactly?" He looked to McCoy and Scott, raising his eyebrows and gave a sage tilt of his head to include them in the conversation.

"Well, Brad Evans tripped on his way to the loo and bumped into one of them who dinna see it as an accident. The merchies were pretty well lit, sir, spilling their beer all over the place. They looked like they'd been drinking pitchers in there all day. Some insults were traded between a few of the guys and I stepped in and offered to buy a round of sandwiches for them." Jim mentally noted that the cadet was careful not to let his accent get away from him and he found that he appreciated that simple courtesy; there had been times in the early days of the _Enterprise's_ first mission that he barely understood three words at a time spoken by the elder Scot, especially when he was agitated or enthusiastic about something and he drifted into incomprehensible dialect.

"And that's when the fight started, you stepping in between two bigger fellas?" asked McCoy, amused at the mention of Connor's cousin's favorite food. He fiddled with a pen set on his desk. It had been a gift from his daughter, but he couldn't remember how long ago he'd received it.

"No, doctor; we're big enough to take a few not all that creative insults from those lads. Anyway, it wasn't very serious at first, just the usual heritage and family knocks, and these merchies didnae look very philosophical-minded to me. One of them knew that we were from the _Enterprise_, and then they got on about some of her decorated officers being too old to be serving Starfleet in space." Connor paused several beats, watching for their reactions. He had hoped they wouldn't want details on this next part.

They did, of course. "Such as?" Kirk couldn't help asking. He almost knew word for word what was coming next—it was a familiar refrain, even from his own renegade past and he felt a strong sense of deja vu.

Connor sighed again before he reluctantly continued with his report. "Mostly Dr. McCoy's age, and Scotty's, er, Chief Engineer Scott's. They also remarked on Mr. Spock's mixed ancestry, and the Captain's inflated ego. Sir," Connor looked a bit uncomfortable as he watched Kirk's changing facial expressions, not trusting himself to risk a peek over at Scotty or McCoy yet. He also felt strangely reassured, as the senior officers no longer seemed quite so displeased with _him_ anyway.

"So then it started?" Scotty wanted to know, rather impatiently, but looking more than a little bit supportive of him now; when he chanced a quick look over at him, Connor could see the older man fighting to repress a smile and he recognized the amused twinkle in his dark eyes. "We've heard a lot o' this over the years from the lads who didnae make it through the Academy." His tone was a great deal more conciliatory now than it had been just minutes before.

"Aye Commander, that's what we reckoned too, sir and there at the end they got on about the so-called outdated design of Federation starships like _Enterprise_. One of them pulled a boot-knife on Paul Collins, sneaky like," Connor added with shrug, glimpsing down at his chest, where the slash wound was healing and becoming rather itchy under his clean shirt. "I may have broken his jaw, wrist and elbow in the um, _altercations_ that followed, sir. I was unable to pull my strikes and I apologized directly to him on the way to the brig last night."

Kirk cleared his throat before speaking, sharing with Bones a look of _See, and I told you so_. "Cadet Scott, the owner is pressing charges against those who were involved and he intends to be reimbursed for the extensive damage that was done to his establishment and is causing him to lose business, thereby suffering economic hardship until repairs are made. How many were from _Enterprise_?"

"There were five of us, Captain. Myself and four of the lads from engineering."

"How many merchant marines were involved?"

"I believe there were more than twenty or twenty-five, sir. I lost count in the confusion, but I did notice that security video cameras were active in the bar itself and out in the corridors. Possibly the video will verify my statement, Captain." McCoy and Scotty both attempted to stifle laughs into their clenched fists, unsuccessfully, and turned away spluttering softly. Kirk himself tried very hard not to smile, but there was humor and admiration in his hazel eyes. Connor stoically bit the inside of his cheek and pretended not to notice the amused glances the Captain was giving his senior officers.

"And we should see the other guys?"

Connor nodded as modestly as he could manage but he sat up even straighter in his chair. "Uh yes, _SIR_. That would be my assessment as well." His back teeth gritted defensively while his hands remained perfectly still, resting atop his knees.

Kirk stood and smoothed the front of his uniform tunic, returning the nod. "Very well. I am happy to say that the honor of our beloved _Enterprise_ has been successfully defended yet again. Be aware that your present supervisor, Commander Scott, will be writing a letter of reprimand to be placed your Starfleet conduct permanent file. The five of you and I—yes, I am including myself, will be docked in pay to cover the damages, and you will report with your shipmates to the main Rec deck at 0600 hours tomorrow for disciplinary action. Until then, you are confined to quarters now that Doctor McCoy has released you from Sickbay. Dismissed."

Connor snapped himself to standing attention at the dismissal, his cheeks turning slightly pink as he faced Kirk. "Aye-aye, Captain."

The door closed behind the greatly relieved young man, and after a few moments to be sure he couldn't hear them, Kirk burst out laughing, gleefully joined by Scotty and McCoy. He pointed a finger in the direction Connor had just exited.

"Wow, just wow," Kirk said, still chuckling. "_That_ kid is a tiger, plus I have first-hand knowledge of how well he fights! I must say that I have the distinct impression that I've heard _and_ done all of this before, Scotty. It's a good thing he's on our side, eh?"

Scott scratched thoughtfully at one earlobe and couldn't get the pleased grin off of his face if he'd tried; he knew that Jim was referring to one shore leave brawl in particular, during a mission when the ship was nearly overrun with tribbles… and Klingons. "Aye, Captain, a verra good thing. That's my boy."

-/-/-/-/-/-

Twenty-seven young men, and nine young women, reported to the main Rec deck at 0600 on the following day as they were ordered. The overall atmosphere was anxious as they waited for Captain Kirk to appear. Many of them had bandages over minor wounds as indication of the "events" which had occurred on Starbase 15 and Jim Kirk had reprimanded some of them before. His punishments, though fair and sparingly dispensed, generally tended to leave a lasting impression upon most of the recipients.

Connor was greeted by his four engineering shift-mates as they stood together in the quiet crowd. "Hiya, Red. Did the docs have to sew you up yesterday?" Collins wanted to know. The young man was grateful that his friend had saved him from being stabbed in the back; the outcomes of shore leave could have been a lot worse.

"Och aye, of course they did. Then my backside got chewed on for a wee while by the top brass." He shrugged easily to let his shipmates know that all was well, giving them a lopsided smile.

They were interrupted by the call of "Attention on deck!" from a crewman by the door. James Kirk came onto the Rec deck, and strode to the front of the assembly, stepping up onto a slightly raised dais. He scanned the faces before him. Few actually met his admonishing gaze—in fact, Connor Scott was one of them. The Captain nodded slightly to acknowledge the young man but Kirk's expression did not change.

"Ladies and gentlemen, good morning. I'm sure you've had plenty of time to imagine your schedule for today." Kirk paused for effect, wondering just how imaginative they really were. "You will complete twenty five kilometers on the track, and..."

Someone off to his right groaned aloud and Kirk did not miss a beat. "Very well, _thirty_ five kilometers it is, and thank you kindly for your input, Mister Kove, and you may walk, run or crawl as you see fit. Each area supervisor has been notified of your temporary re-assignments so that you may direct your full attention to your personal fitness and attitude adjustment today. Alpha shift personnel will report to their regular duty stations tomorrow, as will all other shifts. Are there any questions?" Kirk paused again. Quite a number of them were already sweating, and they'd not even started their punishment yet. He checked the chronometer on the wall.

"None? Outstanding. It is now 0602, ladies and gentlemen. You are dismissed for PFT. Enjoy." He turned sharply on his heel and left the deck, listening to the low hum behind him as the crewmen and -women went to change clothes and shoes for the run. They were all in good physical shape, but some of them would take a full eight-hour shift or longer to complete the "assignment"—equivalent to more than fifty miles on the track. Jim chuckled to himself as he entered the turbolift, on his way to join First Officer Spock on the Bridge.

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Borden, Daniel J., x-ray, tango, foxtrot. Voice print," said the chief, speaking clearly into the secure communications link. "Send it."

He sat back in the reclining chair in his private office, waiting for the scrambled connection to go through. It was a bi-weekly occurrence, which took place more often if it was needed, that he spoke directly with his supervisor at Starfleet Centralized Intelligence Agency (SFCIA). He watched the screen as it moved through a security protocol, his fingers tapping impatiently on the side of the comm-link panel. The viewer pulsed with vertical bands of static before it cleared, revealing a non-descript office on the other end, the antique mahogany credenza the only real distinctive feature. No clock, portraits, plaques or any other décor was visible.

"Dan, it's good to see you, Chief. All is well?" The older man had an intense gaze, more so than even Borden's but he had been in the intelligence business for longer than any other agent alive. Though he had softened somewhat in his later years, spent primarily behind a Director's desk, those who crossed him or underestimated him usually found out too late that they had made a serious or even fatal mistake. His shoulder-length silver hair eerily glowed in contrast to his obsidian eyes.

Borden nodded, allowing a small smile to quirk the corners of his mouth. "All is well, Gordon, thanks. You do know that we're on our way back to the Sol system, right? I reckon we'll be pulling up in three days or so."

"Which is why I wanted to get your input now, son," answered Commander Gordon Rakit smoothly, one of only a handful of people who felt secure enough in his position to call Borden "son" without getting an earful. "In just a few days your kid will be tucked in safe and sound at Starfleet Academy for the next three to four years. You've seen the tape from 15?"

"I have. He's still extremely rough around the edges, boss," replied Borden with a shake of his head. "Got tagged in the face twice this week, same cuts above his left eye in fact. The CMO—McCoy, is updating his medical chart practically everyday."

Rakit laughed out loud. "You're killing me—_rough around the edges_? You counted the number of opponents he faced, right? This kid will be better than you in the cage. Judging from his size now—at what, about sixteen, he's still growing too."

Dan Borden shrugged, unconvinced. "His weapons skills are fine but Scott needs work on multiple opponent drills. I can add that into the MMA class tonight. He's not ready, Gordon, instincts or no."

Rakit chuckled again; shaking his head fondly at the agent he discovered, recruited and trained himself more than twenty years ago. "Still a stiff-necked and particular kind of bastard, aren't you? Fine, add the drills to your class until you get here. He'll pick up more during the plebe class's 'Hell week', we can see to that."

"Who's the MMA instructor at the Academy these days? Shannon?"

The Commander shook his head. "Dale Shannon retired on a medical discharge six months ago," referring to the preternaturally talented woman who had been an advanced martial arts instructor at the Academy for the last eleven years. "She wasn't particularly happy about it either, but is doing well back home in Colorado Springs I'm happy to say. No, it's Kreese, Martin Kreese."

Even over the distant comm-link that connected them through millions of miles of space, Rakit heard the younger man's sigh of exasperation.

"And you still don't like him." It was not a question.

"I don't like his attitude, sir," said Borden tautly. "Too much of a self-promoting hard fist. I've had to unteach and retrain more of his students over the years than I'd care to mention."

Rakit shook his head, smiling warmly at his protégé since he knew that Borden was being completely truthful. "His hard fist saves lives in the long run. We almost lost Butler and Santos on a mission to Romulus about six years ago."

"In the long run, yes," Borden allowed reluctantly. "With that in mind though, I'd like to put in for a transfer rotation, Commander."

"Transfer? Where?" Gordon Rakit knew well enough _where_ but he wanted to hear Borden say it aloud. He was familiar with Borden's past, enabling him to understand that the man had ulterior motives for wanting to voluntarily put himself back on the ground when he'd been an agent in the field for more than a decade and a half.

Dan Borden looked down and away for a moment before he faced the man on the screen again. "I'd like to put in for a transfer to the Academy; I haven't tried my hand yet at larger and more formal instructional settings, sir."

"It doesn't work that way, Dan. I'm sorry. You'll be heading back out to the Neutral Zone in a month or two."

"I've got all of the requisite qualifications, sir, it would be…"

"He reminds you of Casey, I get that. But no, the mission doesn't work that way. There's more at stake than even I can say, Dan. I'm truly sorry."

Borden stared hard at the screen and it took nearly a full minute for him to blink. He sighed heavily. "Got it."

"Add your multiple opponent drills," Rakit said, almost gently. "Even a perfectionist like you can get a lot of techniques and training done in three days."

"Roger that. Can I keep in touch? I've still got my weapons tapes I can send with him. Yeah, and he just had a birthday so it won't be completely incongruous," Borden said at last, a glimmer of hope in his eye.

"Sure, you can do that. The weapons tapes will come in handy and I'm still tracking down a blades-expert for this one; most folks good enough at bat'leth combat tend to get dead eventually from something else," Rakit replied. "That's the best we can do for now."

"I appreciate it, boss."

Rakit nodded. "Keep your head on straight then. Rakit, Gordon A. Send it."

Borden sat completely still and stared at the viewer as it faded to black. He had a lot to prepare for that evening's MMA class, one of the last few before Connor Scott reported as a Cadet Fourth Class at the Starfleet Academy.

-/-/-/-/-/-

Connor skidded to a halt in his running shoes, dropping down to his back to join in with the class warm-up exercises that were already in progress. Without a sound, he started in the middle of the crunches, getting the count from Izzy Gondieve who was next to him in the third line of students. His injured knee supported by an inflatable brace, Ivan Blasic sat in a chair at the front of the room, leading the group by voice commands. The gigantic Security ensign had not yet been medically cleared to participate in the workouts held in Chief Borden's dojo.

When the students jumped back to their feet after the last abdominal crunch, Chief Dan Borden spotted the red-haired Cadet in the back row.

"Mr. Scott?" he called out in a reprimand, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Chief!"

"You're late for my class and that is unsatisfactory," Chief Borden commented drily. There were a few soft snickers from the older students who had heard through the starship's grapevine about the bar brawls during the brief shore leave at Starbase 15 and subsequent disciplinary action that was dispensed for thirty-six of their fellow crewmembers; word had also gotten around that Connor's role in one of the fights had been completely justified in that he protected a friend from a sneak attack. "Gimme twenty-five."

"Yes, sir! Today was Captain Kirk's punishment day over on the wee track, sir," Connor explained, diving to the deck at once to do the assigned push-ups.

"Ah right, that's what I heard. Better make it fifty then," said Borden, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile behind his beard. He winked at the Security ensign seated at his side. A few more of the students laughed quietly as the young cadet cheerfully knocked out the extra calisthenics, getting back to his feet when he completed the task. He lifted one leg to his chest, and then the other, stretching sore thigh and calf muscles after a fifty-mile run that day.

TBC


End file.
